


Fianchetto

by SomethingProfound



Series: A Sea of Stars [5]
Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Codex Entries, F/F, Gen, Mass Effect 2, Paragade (Mass Effect), Sole Survivor (Mass Effect), War Hero (Mass Effect), adding one angry milscifi protagonist to the plot of ME2, of the plot holes filled and more military realism kind
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2019-10-06 15:12:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 19
Words: 95,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17347502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomethingProfound/pseuds/SomethingProfound
Summary: Emilia Shepard wakes up missing her ship, crew and two years of her life. Stuck in an alliance with her former enemies, she struggles to deal with her own death and the mistrust of her government and the woman she loves. But someone has to stop the Collectors, right?Expanded ME2, Paragade Shepard. Multiple character POVs, a much angrier Sole Survivor, and a focus on the off-screen moments and minor characters.





	1. Patchwork Woman

The cold light of Anadius bathed the Illusive Man's office, dashing off smooth metal and the polished buttons of his suit. Ribbons of smoke unfolded from his mouth, the cigarette little more than a stub pinched between two fingers. A fading firefly of light. A M la red supergiant, Anadius was dying the long, incremental death of a star. A gradual process that he was reminded of every time he looked out his window.

It was an easy thing for a small mind to believe that stars were something greater than humanity. Incomprehensible in their lifespans.

Anadius was his _memento mori_. They were both on timers. Anadius would eventually exhaust its supply of helium, then begin to burn carbon, until its core inevitably collapsed, and it would shake the very foundations of space around it in its passing. When his time ran out…

Well. He'd been given a duty that could only be put down when the death he'd been outrunning since he was a young man - too young to understand what had been taken from him that night - finally caught him. Some might have called his fate cruel. Railed against it. The man who'd once been Agent Jack Harper preferred to think of it as an opportunity. He'd been born on a world constricted by narrow minds and choked on its own filth, as humanity fought the only enemy it could find - itself. Jack Harper had wanted power and the purpose to give it meaning, but he hadn't _understood_.

The Illusive Man did.

Lattices of holographic light surrounded him, stacked with intel, progress reports from his half-dozen or so cells and the movements of important persons and weaponry throughout the galaxy. There was something going on in the Alliance's NAVCOMM - the place resembled a kicked anthill since roughly eight hours ago, but his informants had yet to ferret out the reason why yet. And now was a foolish time to push too hard. Hackett and Riley's little purge had been annoyingly effective. Enough that he'd considered having the N7 Major killed. But no, now was the time to melt into the shadows. The time would come for Cerberus to step forward and into the light, but not yet. Not yet.

Nothing Riley or Commander Shepard had destroyed was truly irreplaceable. And there were more important issues to attend to.

He flicked a report open with one finger. Operative Leng was leading a team in the edges of Hegemony space. They were still on track. Getting closer to their target - Camak Sol'cedah, a charismatic and violent Noble Caste batarian who was currently agitating for further raids on human border worlds. _The Alliance is weak now,_ he'd been saying in recent months, _spread too thin, ripe for the plucking._

Leng would kill him and, all going well, would frame one of his political enemies in the Noble Caste. Sol'cedah's bloody dreams of an ascendant Hegemony and the enslaving of human civilians would die with him. The Alliance admirals and generals would drink to his demise and go right back to calling Cerberus a terrorist organisation.

They had their own assassins, of course, in the N7 operatives, but they'd never used Leng to his potential when he'd been in the Unit. Cerberus provided Leng with purpose, an outlet for his impulses and a loose set of ROE. In return, Cerberus gained the precision of a stiletto knife. It was all the man was good for, but he knew it as well as the Illusive Man did.

The Illusive Man swiped, authorising Leng's request for further funds. The glass windows caught the cybernetic glimmer of his eyes.

The batarians were far from being the true enemy, but they were still a threat, and like all threats, required addressing.

A light began to pulse on one of his screens. He pulled on his cigarette and hit accept.

"Operative Lawson." He could have spared the expense of holoprojectors and simply relied on audio or regular screens, but he liked to see the faces and body language of his operatives. Particularly operatives as intelligent as Miranda Lawson. He'd cultivated her streak of ruthlessness personally, after all.

Lawson wasn't one to call him incessantly for directions.

"I received a report from our informant aboard the _Normandy_. I thought you should hear of it immediately."

"What is it?"

"Gustaf Nilsson reports that the SSV _Normandy_ has been destroyed by an unknown enemy."

"And Shepard?" He tapped ash off the end of his cigarette. Shepard was no friend to Cerberus, but she was still important - there were still uses for her. She was an intelligent and dangerous woman, but her hatred blinded her.

Miranda frowned. She had yet to understand why Shepard was important. She saw an obstacle to be removed. "Nilsson says she's missing. She went back into a damaged part of the ship to search for a survivor. The Alliance believes she's dead - they've ceased search and rescue operations."

"They'll be back." The Alliance, for all its flaws, did usually attempt to retrieve all of its people, corpses or not. A sentimental policy he'd exploited once or twice.

General Williams had once sent a squad after Agents Harper, Core, and Hislop. A waste of men, in an already desperate fight. He could still remember the blood on the floor of that strange chamber deep beneath Shanxi's surface. The sudden, shocking pain - the feeling that his eyes were being eaten right out of his skull. The shaking of his hand when he'd put two bullets in his best friend's head.

The Illusive Man drew in another breath of smoke and then exhaled. "Get to the wreckage before the Alliance returns and retrieve Shepard's remains - as intact as possible. This is your only priority until Shepard is recovered."

"Yessir."

Shepard was important. And in anything, there was opportunity.

* * *

When Commander Emilia Shepard had arrived on Lazarus Station, she'd been nothing more than a hunk of frozen meat on a sterile operating table, red arranged in the vague shape of a woman, white bone peeking through torn soft tissue. Shepard's skin had been burnt and scoured away, one arm torn off at the shoulder, one leg at the knee and the other at the ankle.

Jacob had looked at the body, visibly discomfited, and asked if it wasn't better if they just gave her back to her family in a box. For all his frustrations with the Alliance, there was a part of him that would always be entrenched in the Marine Corps' idea of honour. That saw Shepard as a fallen sister, who deserved the solemn rituals of military grief.

But there was a reason that the Illusive Man had put Miranda Lawson in charge of the Lazarus Project. She'd never had much time for sentimentalities and rites.

The Normandy's carcass had prevented Shepard's body being torn into a hundred pieces like many of the other crew, and her helmet had protected what was most important - the brain.

While the specialists had gotten to work, Miranda Lawson had pored over the volume of reports, evaluations and files the Illusive Man had forwarded to her. She needed to understand Emilia Shepard down to the bone. While Shepard's public persona had been of the charming, attractive and dutiful military officer, she'd been a flawed woman under the polish. Alcohol abuse, an arrest for a bar fight, an affair with an enlisted woman.

But the Illusive Man wanted Shepard back as she had been, flaws and all.

And now...

Miranda leant over the still figure in the table, watching the rise and fall of its chest. Felt the hum of deep satisfaction in her chest.

Shepard was as yet unfinished. Her insides were still protected by a lattice of 'skin weave' over which new skin was growing in, the raw edges gleaming a sullen orange-red and they'd yet to wake her up for the first tests, but the majority of the reconstruction was complete, and she was breathing independently.

To the medical personnel of Project Lazarus, Shepard was their greatest achievement. A victory over death itself. A crossing of a final frontier.

To the woman behind Miranda, Shepard was a ghost made flesh.

"How do you know she'll still be as she was?" Doctor Karin Chakwas' face was drawn, her mouth pinched at the corners. Her eyes stuck to that rise and fall. Inhale. Exhale. "Neurological damage is inevitable. The moment she asphyxiated, her brain would have begun to die. That's all any of us are - connections between neurons."

"We're doing everything we can, Doctor Chakwas. Neuron transplants for the damaged regions, nanobot technology. I have it under control." _Miranda_ had done her best, and it wasn't arrogance to know that her best was exceptional. And the Illusive Man was very exacting in his requirements, refusing her very logical request for a control chip. Shepard had killed not a few Cerberus operatives - if she woke as herself, her first reaction would be violence. But he'd said that any person was a sum of their parts, and changing anything could have consequences they couldn't predict.

"That doesn't bring back what was lost. That can change a person, even without bringing clinical death into it." Chakwas was no neurologist, but she'd seen more than a few serious head injuries and their aftermath.

Miranda tilted her chin. "My projections are not merely wishful thinking, Doctor. Shepard will wake up, and as herself."

"We'll see," Chakwas said, but her eyes kept sliding back to the comatose figure. The reports said that she and Shepard had an amicable and respectful but not particularly close relationship. Shepard had bonded most tightly with her ground team. "Her tattoos and scars are gone."

Miranda waved a hand. "The severe damage to the dermis meant it was more efficient to simply replace the skin."

"She won't like that," Chakwas observed neutrally.

Miranda frowned slightly. "She can get new tattoos if she likes them so much."

Chakwas' mouth tightened further, but then she nodded. "You've made your point."

"You'll speak to Moreau?" That'd been Moreau's condition - that Chakwas see Shepard before they both signed on the proverbial dotted line.

"I will."

"Good." Miranda turned back to Shepard. They still needed to finish the shoulder reconstruction.

"And Miranda?" There was a sudden steel to the doctor's voice.

Miranda paused, irritated by the delay. "What?"

"I want to see Shepard's medical files after the...project is complete."

"Fine," Miranda said dismissively. "You'll be her primary healthcare provider after all. Jacob will escort you back to the shuttle now."

By the time Karin Chakwas had left the room, she was long gone from Miranda Lawson's attention. There was only the Project.

* * *

Shepard felt for a pulse with bloodied fingers. The acid had eaten away the Marine's helmet and the side of her face, exposing sinew and bone. Like it was currently eating into Shepard's shoulder. Burning into her.

There was none. Her arm gave out and she collapsed next to the dead Marine, gasping. The rock beneath her shook and shuddered. She had to get back to Richardson. She could still save him. She could.

She grasped at the rock beneath her, feeling it scrape at her gloves. Had to get back.

"Shepard."

She turned her head. The corpse looked back, white bone gleaming wetly through tattered flesh.

"Shepard," it said, "you need to wake up."

She blinked.

Above her was only a grey-white metal ceiling. Shepard ached down to the bone like someone had taken a baseball to every inch of her.

_What the fuck._

She reached for her burning shoulder and found only the plastic-y material of a medical gown. The skin underneath felt raw, like it had just after they'd started growing in the a-skin, but when she pushed her hand underneath the material she could feel only smoothness. The pits and lumps of scar tissue were gone.

"What the _fuck_." Her head pounded and her face felt like it might split open at the slightest provocation.

 _I was on the_ Normandy. She wasn't now. Shepard knew every inch of her ship, even the places the crew liked to take naps and hide things in.

Something had happened. Something bad. She couldn't remember. Why couldn't she remember?

" _Shepard, you need to get up. This facility is under attack."_ The voice was cool and accented Australian. She'd heard it before, in the midst of pain and incessant beeping. It hadn't felt real - like a dream.

Shepard could hear the muffled crackle of gunfire now - and she was mostly naked, alone and unarmed. Wonderful. Gritting her teeth, she forced herself up - and half fell off the medical bed, hitting the floor hard enough to bruise her knees.

She'd been out a while if she'd lost so much muscle mass. _Gonna be a bitch to get that back_.

If she didn't get shot first.

Shepard staggered to her feet, reaching for the back of her neck, her shoulders slumping for a moment in relief when she felt the smooth lump of an implant. Not quite unarmed, then.

_"There's a security locker in the corridor outside - it should have a pistol in it."_

What kind of hospital had pistols just lying around like that? Where were the staff, for that matter? This couldn't be a Navy hospital. Not enough Alliance symbols slapped on every conceivable surface.

Where was Ash?

Gun first, questions later. Survival always came first.

She yanked the security locker open hastily, with a glance over her shoulder at the doorways for threats. Pants, thank God. She dressed quickly, mechanically. Cargo pants, t-shirt, armoured vest over the top. Her side and shoulder screaming at her whenever she moved - and ignored. Heatsinks and the contents of a first aid pack shoved in any pocket she had. She took the shitty arse M-3 Predator from the rack and loaded it.

Better than nothing, and while she hated using a weapon she hadn't cared for herself, whoever was responsible for this locker knew their gun maintenance.

 _"There's mechs closing in on your location,"_ warned the disembodied voice. _"Left door."_

Not a moment too soon. Shepard turned, blue light sheeting across her skin, as the door hissed open to the sound of mechanical, clomping steps. The cool, robotic voice of a LOKI mech requested she lay down her weapons.

Three mechs. LOKIs were dumber than a bag of rocks, but she was still outnumbered.

Shepard threw out a hand, smashing one of them into the other in a cascade of sparks and shrieking metal. A dismembered hand flopped to the ground at her feet with a metallic clank.

A bullet dashed off her barrier and then off the window - thick plastiglass, and what kind of hospital had windows rated for military grade weapons? - as she raised the M-3 smoothly and squeezed off two shots. They punched through the LOKI's head, reducing it to a sparking stump.

Shepard threw herself behind the corner just as the mech's self-destruct activated, shaking the corridor with a roar that rang in her ears. One day she was going to find whatever engineer at Hahne-Kedar had thought it was a good idea to make shitty combat mechs explode, and she was going to shove their heads up their arse.

She found herself leaning against the wall, heart pounding against her sternum like a drum. She'd never felt exhausted by a bit of moving, a bit of biotics. What the fuck was wrong with her?

 _"Shepard, we need to get you to the shuttles, take the-"_ The woman's voice crackled and was gone. As averse as she was to taking orders from the disembodied voice of a stranger, she was now apparently on her own, in a strange facility she didn't have the map for.

_What now, Marine?_

_Always keep moving._ One of the things that'd been drummed into her at the Villa, but she'd found it a decent life philosophy too. She'd keep moving so those mechs couldn't pin her down, until she found some schematics or a fucking info map.

Out of shape or not, she was still a N7.

* * *

Jacob Taylor wasn't quite sure how everything had surged out of control so quickly. One moment he'd been pumping iron in the station's small, claustrophobic gym, the next he'd been dashing for his pistol and armoured vest as his security guards were cut down one by one. Sure, they hadn't been exactly the cream of the crop field agents, but it was like the mechs had known where the security guards were posted and where they slept - and to cut them down first.

But that was ridiculous, right? LOKIs weren't exactly known for their tactical sense.

Had he gotten so fixated on controlling what came onto the station and what left it that he'd ignored the automated systems? No. No, he'd checked them regularly. Someone had to have done this - someone on the inside, who didn't want the Project completed.

Annoyingly effective automated systems, so far. He flinched as a hail of bullets cracked overhead, huddling behind a table repurposed as cover. Every time he popped his head up to try and fling a biotic field at the rust buckets he got a damn storm unloaded onto him.

This wasn't good. He hadn't been pinned down like this since Eden Prime, and that'd been the closest thing he could imagine to hell on earth.

He had to think. A round hissed close enough to light up his portable shield generator. General Tereshchenko had been fond of saying a Marine's greatest weapon was in their skull, but he was coming up short.

The door leading into the dining room hummed open and he hissed, sighting down his pistol - but it wasn't a mech that came charging through, dressed in the black fatigues of the security team, glowing brightly. He felt the figure throw out a powerful biotic field - strong enough that he felt it in his clenched teeth - smashing mechs off their feet and into walls.

They slid into cover beside him and he found himself gaping, his own biotic corona shorting out. Black curls in a messy bun, dark skin split across the jaw and cheekbones with a faint red glow, eyes burning a burnt orange. A corpse gone walking. "Shepard?"

"No time to chat," she replied. Her expression was calm - calculating, "Can you detonate?"

"Yes."

She just nodded and popped up, wrenching several mechs into the air, where they hung helplessly until Jacob hit them with a counteracting field. The resulting explosion tore through the LOKI ranks. Shepard smashed the survivors against the floor and wall until there was nothing left but scrap metal.

She'd been there all of ten seconds and the room was clear.

Shepard collapsed back against the table, clutching her side.

"You alright?" he asked, kneeling beside her.

She gritted her teeth and nodded. "Few aches is all. Name and rank."

The second sentence had a familiar snap of authority that reminded him of Major Izunami, and he felt his shoulders squaring subconsciously. "Security Chief Jacob Taylor, ma'am."

"Well, Taylor, I hope you know the way to the shuttles."

He nodded. "I do. And if I know Miranda, she'll be making her way there to."

She had to. A handful of mechs couldn't take down Miranda Lawson.

"Miranda..." She tilted her head. "The person in charge, I imagine? I think she was giving me directions."

"Yes, ma'am. She knows how to take care of herself."

Something flickered in Shepard's eyes like she didn't quite believe him. But she just nodded. "Lead the way."

"No questions?" he blinked.

She smiled slightly, with a hint of teeth, "I'll have plenty later - but questions are best saved for when we're not getting shot at."

"That's a philosophy I can get behind."

"C'mon, let's get moving."

* * *

Blood pulsed weakly in streams down his leg, leaving his uniform pants sodden and pooling on the floor. Wilson leaned heavily against the wall, panting, fingers taut around the pistol in his hand. Shit, shit, shit, that hurt. It hurt more than he could've believed, white heat searing up from the gunshot wound right up to his hip.

But the pain was worth it. He had to make it off this tin can alive if he wanted to spend the Shadowbroker's money. The mechs had likely killed Miranda, and Shepard was not at her best. The only real problem was Jacob. Good natured, trusting Jacob Taylor.

Right on cue, the door slid open.

"Over here!" he called hoarsely, through the burn. "The bastards got me in the leg."

Shepard stepped through, and he shivered despite himself. The cybernetic eyes were still glowing a dull orange-red - they hadn't finished implanting the overlay that Miranda had chosen for its close approximation of Shepard's natural eye colour. They studied him, impassive, then flicked to the door, the dead security guard on the floor with a bullet in his chest, then back to him.

"Taylor, watch the door. I'll patch him up." Shepard's voice wasn't demanding. It was expectant - like she knew she would be obeyed, no throwing her weight around needed.

She pulled a first aid kit out of one of her pockets and snapped a pair of gloves on. Her eyes didn't leave his wound. "I've heard your voice before. You were there when I woke up the first time."

He grimaced. "Yeah. I'm your damn neurosurgeon. Never thought you'd save my life. Guess we're even now."

"You're lucky, Doctor," she said mildly, holding him still as she _stuffed_ the damn medigel into the wounds either side of his calf.

"Fuck! _Lucky_?" he demanded.

"You still have a lower leg." She pulled out a SAM splint roll from the kit and shaped it to his leg. From her calm, efficient movements, it was clear she'd done this before.

"You're a medic as well?"

"N School. Everyone had to know what they were doing." She secured it to his leg with wraps of bandage from the kit.

"What were you doing in here, anyway?" Jacob asked, glancing over his shoulder.

"I thought I could try and shut down the mechs. But whoever did this knew what they were doing - they've fried the whole system."

"A doctor and a tech?" Shepard asked mildly. When he looked at her, her expression was still maddeningly neutral.

"You're Bio Wing, not security. You shouldn't even have clearance for the mechs," Jacob frowned.

Damnit. "I got shot trying to fix this!"

Shepard raised a hand, cutting off Taylor's reply. "We can argue about whose fault this is later. Right now, we've got a platoon of mechs between us and the shuttles."

"We need to look for Miranda," Jacob insisted. Wilson would never understand how Miranda had gained such a straight shooter's loyalty like she had.

"She was over in D-Wing. That was crawling with mechs-" He'd made sure of that.

"A couple of mechs won't drop her. She's alive."

"Then where is she? She's either dead or a traitor."

Jacob bristled, but it was Shepard who spoke. "A traitor wouldn't have woken me up, gotten me a gun, and sent me in the right direction."

"She's not here. We need to look out for ourselves," he insisted.

Shepard laid a hand on Jacob's shoulder, ignoring Wilson completely. "We need to secure our exfil route first. If we're lucky, she'll be making her way there too. If not, we can hopefully use the shuttle's systems to contact her omnitool - and then I'll help you extract her. Good to go?"

Jacob nodded, expression firming. "Good to go, ma'am."

The Marine act was almost nauseating, Wilson decided. Like they were good little soldiers, instead of who they actually worked for. He wasn't an idiot. He knew what the boss man was capable of. He hadn't signed up for some noble crusade like Jacob seemed to think they all had - he'd signed up for the pay and because the woman standing in front of him was the greatest medical achievement in history. He'd been all aboard right up until he'd realised that Project Complete meant liquidation.

"Listen, Shepard..." Jacob began.

She turned back impatiently. "Yes?"

"If I tell you who we work for, will you trust me?"

Wilson blanched. Was Jacob really going to tell a woman who still considered herself an Alliance officer that they worked for Cerberus? The people she blamed for the deaths of her team back in '78? "I don't think now is the right time, Jacob."

"We're not going to get out of here if she's expecting a shot in the back."

 _We're not going to get out of here if_ Shepard _decides to shoot_ us _._

"This project - the one that helped you - it's funded by Cerberus."

"Cerberus." Shepard's voice was flat and without inflection, something very cold in her glowing eyes. Something that made the back of Wilson's neck prickle. Then, just as quickly, the look was gone, replaced with the same impassivity she'd shown since she'd appeared.

"The Alliance declared you Killed In Action. They gave up."

A flicker ran across her face. "The Alliance wouldn't leave someone behind."

"Well, they did, so..." Wilson shrugged. The look she shot him was downright venomous.

"You'll forgive me if I don't take a couple of terrorists on their word."

Jacob spread his hands. "Look, Shepard, I'm not asking you to take everything on faith. Once we get outta here, I'll get you to the Illusive Man. He'll explain it all."

After a moment, Shepard nodded sharply. "Alright. We need to get to those shuttles. Let's get you on your feet, Wilson."

He hissed out a pained breath as she heaved on his arm, helping him up. Any weight on his wounded leg sent shards of agony up into his hip, but he could walk. Slowly.

"We'll go to your pace, Wilson. Taylor, take point, and I'll take the six."

"Roger that," Taylor agreed. The logic was obvious - Jacob was in the best shape of them all, and he knew the way, but Wilson couldn't help but notice that their marching order meant Shepard would keep an eye on them both - and a gun, if need be.

Shepard kept them moving, despite her own heavy breathing and the agony in Wilson's leg. Any mechs they ran into were quickly dispatched with pistols and biotics - Shepard seemed very fond of smashing things.

Finally, finally, they came to the shuttle bay. Wilson hobbled to the door as quickly as he could, reaching to enter the code. "They're just through here-"

"Good." Shepard moved with sudden, ferocious violence. A blue wave slammed into Jacob's solid chest, tossing him into the wall with a harsh thump and pinning him there. And Wilson found himself looking down the wrong end of her pistol.

"Shepard," Jacob grunted, "you're making a mistake-"

"I am not going anywhere with _Cerberus_ ," she hissed, pulses of light running down her arms.

Then she froze, slapping a hand to her neck, confusion flashing across her face a moment before her knees buckled and she crumpled to the ground. The biotic field holding Jacob faded and he fell to his knees, gasping and rubbing at his ribs.

"What the...?" Wilson wondered out-loud.

Then behind the crates nearby, the air shimmered and resolved into the figure of a woman in a dark suit, the sleeve singed. Her boots clicked against the floor.

 _No. No, no, no_. "Miranda? But you were-"

She raised her pistol and fired once. "Dead?"

As Eric Wilson lay on the ground, choking on his own blood, Miranda Lawson stepped around him and approached the unconscious Shepard, ignoring Jacob's protests.

"Enough, Jacob. Help me get her into the shuttle. Now."

* * *

**Codex Entry**

Cerberus Dossier: Emilia Shepard:

To: The Illusive Man, Kelly Chambers, Miranda Lawson

From: Rasa Brooks

Subject: Shepard Dossier

Sir,

Please find attached Shepard's dossier. If you require anything further or any clarification, please don't hesitate to ask.

-Operative Rasa

 

Persons Of Interest/Dossiers/Emilia_Shepard

_last updated 3/2/2185_

Alves Shepard, Emilia Isabela: 2154; born in Melbourne Australia to then Royal Australian Air Force Pilot Officer Hannah Shepard and Isabel Alves. 2155; Hannah and Isabel Shepard join the newly fledged Systems Alliance military (1). 2157; Isabel Shepard KIA, Hannah Shepard POW during FCW (3). 2167; identified as biotic due to in utero exposure to Element Zero, Hannah Shepard refuses Conatix offer or L2 implantation (13). 2171; undergoes L3 implantation surgery, tutored by former asari commando Marisa T'Vera (17). 2172; enlists in Systems Alliance Marine Corps (18). 2174; completes Officer Candidate School training, commissioned as Second Lieutenant (20). 2176; leads off-duty platoon in defence of Planetary Defence Battery 23 during the Skyllian Blitz, marries Sub-Lieutenant Rita McCormick (22). 2177; promoted to First Lieutenant, undergoes N5 training, deploys to Anhur (23). 2178; awarded Star of Terra for Skyllian Blitz, MSOT 6 wiped out in Akuze incident, only survivor, transferred to logistical unit command (24). 2179; undergoes N7 training, lateral transfer to Navy (25). 2180, promoted to Staff Lieutenant (26). 2181; divorced from Rita MCCormick (27). 2182; promoted to Lieutenant Commander (28). 2183; promoted to Commander, designated as first human Spectre, hunted down Saren Arterius. 2184; declared KIA by SAN after destruction of SSV Normandy (29).

**Romantic Liaisons**

Ana Rodriguez

Length of Relationship: 2173-2174; thirteen months

Subject met Ana Rodriguez, a law student at Arcturus University, in 2173 while stationed at Arcturus Station. Subject corresponded regularly with Ms Rodriguez after being deployed, but ended relationship after returning from deployment due to infidelity.

Rita McCormick

Length of Relationship: 2175-2181; six years

Subject met Rita McCormick, a naval officer, in 2174 while they were stationed aboard the same vessel, the SSV Cairo. Shortly after the end of the subject's relationship with Ana Rodriguez, Rita and the subject became romantically involved. In 2176 they became engaged and they married in early 2177. By 2181 the marriage had broken down due to distance and subject's reluctance to seek reassignment from special operations duties, and Lieutenant Commander McCormick filed for divorce in 2182 after eighteen months of separation from the subject.

Ashley Williams

Length of Relationship: 2183; n/a (est. 6-12 months)

Subject met Ashley Williams, an enlisted Marine, in 2183 during the Battle of Constant. Williams was then transferred to subject's command. Length and nature of subject's relationship is not fully known; however, surveillance has ascertained they were involved by December 2183. Relationship appears to have been ongoing at time of subject's death.

**Psychological Analysis**

Psychological Evaluation, Systems Alliance Navy

Doctor Marie Thullier, Systems Alliance Navy Medical Corps

12/02/2183

Name: Shepard, Emilia

Date of Birth: 11 April 2154

Service Number: 5928-AC-2826

Rank: Lieutenant Commander

Reason For Referral:

Continued monitoring of PTSD symptoms.

Relevant Background:

Identification: divorced with no children, 29-year-old Black Latina woman, lesbian, biotic, Special Forces officer.

Psychiatric History: Family - nothing relevant. Personal - hospitalised in 2178 following a mental health crisis, diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder shortly after. After undergoing treatment, Emilia returned to duty.

Personal History: grew up a 'military brat,' highly transient childhood. One parent KIA during the First Contact War. Describes childhood as 'very loving' despite her mother being repeatedly deployed. Reports no real emotional stresses related to childhood and adolescence beyond expected feelings of grief and loss at losing a parent at such a young age.

Military History: enlisted into the Marine Corps at the age of eighteen, deploying to the outer colonies in 2173. Commissioned through officer candidate school in 2174. Completed N5 qualification is 2177 and N7 qualification in 2179. Lateral transfer to the Navy in 2179.

Stressful events:

2176 - Illyria, Elysium. Emilia was on leave with the platoon she commanded and her fiancee when the Skyllian Blitz occurred. Eight members of her platoon were killed in action defending the colony.

2178 - Akuze. While on a recon patrol, Emilia's N5 Raider team and an accompanying infantry platoon were attacked by thresher maws. The rest of the Marines present were killed or died of their wounds.

2181 - divorce. Breakdown of her marriage with Rita.

Evaluation Behaviour: LCDR Emilia Shepard is a highly intelligent and outwardly confident woman, who easily established a rapport. While willing to engage in her treatment, she sometimes became somewhat defensive if her ongoing competency came up in conversation and attempted to project an unaffected demeanor. It is clear that she finds meaning and joy in her work and in her connections with fellow servicemembers, and is anxious at the thought of averse medical evaluations.

Summary: I do not recommend LTCDR Shepard for a medical evaluation board, as she is willing and able to both discharge her duties and cooperate with ongoing treatment and evaluation; medical discharge would likely have an adverse effect on her mental health. I recommend that LTCDR Shepard continue to follow her treatment regime and monitor herself for any worsening of symptoms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back (back again)! I'm still polishing up the inter-game years fic, but keep an eye out. I'm also considering whether to keep doing index chapters at the start of the longer fics, or whether to do a separate index with slang/definitions/ranks/characters/etc. Opinions welcomed.


	2. The Slow Climb

The shuttle shuddered around them as it came out of the Relay jump, the sensation felt deep in Jacob's bones. Miranda had taken her seat up in the pilot's chair, leaving the door to the cockpit open as she flew.

That did, of course, leave him watching over Shepard. His ribs were still aching from her sudden biotic attack, and he wasn't sure how to feel about nearly being killed by someone he respected. And she would have killed him if Miranda hadn't stepped in - he'd seen it on her face when she'd tossed him into the wall. He was Cerberus, and to Commander Shepard 'Cerberus' was still very much in the 'shoot on sight' category.

How did you dislodge that kind of hatred out of someone?

Shepard stared steadily at him. Even handcuffed to a shuttle seat and her amp sitting in his pocket, she didn't look a prisoner. Even after just having roused from the sedative Miranda had stuck her with. Her shoulders were straight and her chin tilted slightly back, her mouth twisted with what he could only imagine was contempt.

With the shuttle set on autopilot, Miranda climbed out of the pilot's seat and stalked back into the troop compartment. Her eyes met Shepard's - and Jacob shifted uncomfortably. It was like watching an unstoppable force meet an immovable object.

"I need to ask you some questions."

"Commander Emilia I. A. Shepard. Service number five-nine-two-three dash A-C dash two-eight-two-six."

His heart sank in his chest.

Miranda rolled her eyes. "Save me the theatrics, Shepard."

"Do we have to do this now?" Jacob asked, "She's been through a lot today - and I've fought alongside her. Her skills are obviously intact."

"Skills are only part of the picture. It's been two years - we need to ensure her neurological functions are intact."

"Two years?" Shepard demanded. A dozen emotions cascaded over her face, shattering through her practiced calm. Fear, anger grief, all tangled up together. Jacob felt a throb of sympathy. Couldn't be easy, waking up to all this. Drug-addled, confused and surrounded by people you saw as enemies.

"I'm afraid so," Miranda said crisply. "It's 2185."

Shepard blanched. "What happened?"

"What do you remember?"

Shepard opened her mouth. Closed it.

"Shepard," Miranda said, a hint impatiently, "I'm not trying to ferret Alliance secrets out of you. I'm checking your memory."

Shepard's jaw clenched, and her eyes dropped to the floor of the shuttle, unfocused. "We were...attacked. I ordered the ship to be abandoned. It's all fragmented. Fire, destruction. Joker was in trouble. I remember feeling cold. That's all."

Miranda nodded. "Understandable. The Normandy was destroyed, and you were trapped while going back for Moreau. Your oxygen tubing was cut. Your injuries were...extensive."

Shepard breathed in unevenly. "And my crew?"

"There were some casualties -"

"How many?"

"Twenty-two," Jacob said gently. "The damage control personnel and a handful of others were killed in the lower decks. The rest were killed when the CIC depressurized, including your Executive Officer and Master Chief. I'm sorry."

Shepard's shoulders slumped. "I want to know who."

"I'll get the list for you once we get to the station," Jacob promised. He knew what it was like to lose people you were responsible for. It killed a little bit of you every time.

"Thanks," she said stiffly. He hoped that took him one step out of the Murder Zone.

"Ask the questions, Jacob," Miranda broke in.

He sighed and looked at his omnitool. "What year did you enlist?"

"First year I could. 2172. I was eighteen."

"In 2176 you were on leave with your first platoon command. Do you remember what happened?"

"The Blitz," she answered promptly, then frowned, blinking rapidly. "I...thought we were all going to die. I wanted to make it mean something. So I convinced them to come with me to..."

Her face scrunched up.

"Planetary Defence Battery 23. One of the anti-air towers," Jacob supplied, and something in her expression eased.

"Don't give her the answers, Jacob," Miranda cut in.

"In 2178-"

"No." Shepard's voice was sharp and cold. That calculating, predatory look was back when he looked up at her face. "You don't get to ask me about that while wearing that symbol."

Her eyes fixed on the stylised O on his chest.

"Look, Shepard," he said earnestly, "I know what the Alliance says about us, but we're trying to do some good work here. There's some shit goin' down right now that the Alliance can't or won't address."

She studied his face. "You really believe that, huh?"

"I wouldn't be here if I didn't."

"Where are you taking me?" Now she just sounded tired.

"Another Cerberus facility," Miranda answered.

"Are you gonna let me out of these cuffs?" Shepard rattled them for emphasis.

Miranda raised one eyebrow. "Are you going to attack Jacob again?"

"That depends where you're taking me," Shepard said dryly. He would've thought she'd recovered from the shock of hearing how many of her subordinates she'd lost, but Jacob could see the grief lurking in the corners of her expression, packaged neatly away. He knew compartmentalisation when he saw it, and whatever he and Miranda might want, Commander Shepard still considered herself a POW.

"You require further medical attention, and the Illusive Man wants to talk to you. Whatever specific questions you have should be directed to him."

"So you'll let me out?"

"Do you think I'm an idiot?" Miranda asked archly.

"No," Shepard sighed, settling back in her chair. "But I was hoping."

* * *

"While I understand that you wish to have Commander Shepard on the battlefield as soon as possible, the reality is that she is a recently awoken coma patient." Karin Chakwas met the strange blue eyes of the Illusive Man with her own steely gaze. She was a Naval Medical Corps Captain - she'd stared down Generals and Admirals and politicians. "She cannot simply get off the table and begin running spec ops raids."

"Lawson and Taylor reported her combat ability appeared to be intact," he observed, taking a puff from his cigarette.

"Mechs are one thing," she said dryly. "An opponent that can think is another. Lawson also reports that Shepard is suffering from confusion, headaches, and fatigue. She hasn't finished healing, let alone the physio she might require."

"The longer we wait, the more colonists die," the Illusive Man reminded her.

"And I regret that, but my medical judgement stands."

Smoke drifted from between his lips. "Very well. You should head over to the shuttle bay. Lawson may need your help."

"Of course." She stepped out of the QEC room and hurried towards the bay. If she knew Emilia Shepard, her reaction to finding out exactly who had her in their clutches would be somewhat violent. Hopefully, she could prevent anyone from being unnecessarily warped.

"-put that thing near me, and you'll be _eating your teeth for lunch_!"

Despite herself, Chakwas smiled. Shepard's talent for imaginative threats was at least intact. She rounded the corner. Shepard was surrounded by a handful of Cerberus medical personnel, restrained by handcuffs. Despite that, they all cringed away from her, as if from a wild animal. Likely for the best - Shepard was very capable of carrying out that threat if they got too close to her.

"I hope you weren't about to take Shepard's blood without her consent," Chakwas said mildly. The medics jolted away from the Marine, and she forced down the instinctive flicker of anger. She was half-convinced these people had joined Cerberus because they'd failed their ethics classes. She would have none of those butchers in her medbay.

Shepard's head snapped to look at her, surprise splashed right over her features. Oh, but the seams where the skin hadn't grown in fully over the weave had to be painful. She'd need to get her some cream for that.

"Chakwas?" she asked softly.

"Let's get you patched up. Are the handcuffs necessary, Lawson?"

After a moment of consideration, the other woman stepped forward and unlocked them. "I'm keeping your amp for now. There are guards posted throughout the facility."

"Understood," Shepard's voice was clipped, but she didn't resist when Chakwas took her by the elbow, leading her towards the medbay she'd taken over.

"Just this way, Shepard."

Shepard glanced at her warily. "What's going on? Why are you here?"

"One moment." She keyed the door open. Once they were inside, she looked at Shepard. Really looked at her. The red-gleaming scars and irises, the lack of muscle tone - but still Shepard. Still that same presence, the same determined calm in the face of insanity. Fears that had mounted in her over the past few months eased somewhat. "I watched the Normandy crumble with you onboard."

What an awful, awful day. One of the worst she could remember in her long career, rivaled only by when her Forward Surgical Team had been sent down to Shanxi, after the bombings and subsequent liberation. Waiting for hours to hear which friends, which colleagues were dead. She'd had breakfast with Pressly only hours before the attack.

"It doesn't feel real," Shepard said softly, "like I might wake up at any moment."

Chakwas squeezed her shoulder. "Shirt off if you would, Commander. I need to examine you."

Shepard mechanically pulled her shirt off, wincing when she rotated her right shoulder.

"Pain in your shoulder?"

"Yeah. Doesn't feel a hundred percent."

Somewhat expected. That shoulder had been ripped apart in the crash. "Any other pain?"

"Yeah. To be honest, Doc, everything hurts-" Shepard looked down and cut off. Revulsion cut through her composure. At some point during her fight off Lazarus Station, the skin across her ribs had split and exposed the red gleam of the cybernetics beneath. Dried blood clung to her dark skin. "What the fuck did they do to me?"

"Cybernetics," Chakwas said calmly. "With time your skin should finish healing. Thankfully the weave beneath provides a barrier - or there'd be no way I would let you walk around like this."

"What the hell is going on?" She'd never heard Shepard sound so lost, not even when they'd stolen the Normandy. Not even when they'd found Corporal Toombs. "What are you doing here? Last I checked you were a dedicated naval officer, not-"

"A terrorist?" Chakwas raised an eyebrow. "You're right. I am still the same person you served with, and I'm here for you, Commander. Whatever you decide, I am with you. I just ask that you get all the facts before you act."

Shepard's eyes hardened to steel. "I'll hold you to that, Doc."

"I expect nothing less. Now, sit still. I need to check your blood glucose levels."

* * *

"You look exhausted, David."

The dark skycar with the tinted windows hummed around them as it shot through the early 'morning' Presidium traffic.

Anderson craned his neck until it audibly cracked. "I'm always tired these days. Stayed up to one with those goddamn reports."

Concern flashed very quickly across Master Chief Dah's stony features. They'd been friends far too long for him not to see it, but when she spoke her voice was wry. "Used to be we could stay up to three in the morning at bars and be up for formation in the morning."

He smiled. "Those were the days. Drink a tanker full of beer at night, kick doors in for a day job." Things had been simpler back then. The enemy had been clear, and he'd been allowed to shoot them. Nowadays it was all politics, giving advice to those who didn't hear it, meetings and fancy dinners where everyone was there just to be seen. "And if things went wrong, we could just blame intel or the brass."

"Now look at us. Enough brass to make a church bell." Dah reached over and flicked one of his stars with a dull clack.

"Sir, we're on approach to the Tower," his driver, Logistics Specialist Third Class Chen, announced through the divider.

"Thank you, Chen."

"I hope Udina is too damn busy to stick his nose in our business," Dah muttered. Her dislike of the Councillor was pronounced.

"He's busy negotiating that trade deal," he assured her. That, unlike military affairs, was where Udina shone. He was a shark at the negotiating table, and he wasn't entirely sure that the human Councillor wouldn't walk out with the shirt off the back of one of the other delegates.

If the reports he'd read last night were true, Udina would have a new political crisis on his hands. What worried Anderson was how the man might choose to 'solve' that problem.

"Good," Dah grumbled. "I envy you for getting to punch the smug bastard."

Anderson chuckled. "You know they made me promise to never punch him again as a condition of my promotion?"

"They put that in writing?"

"Of course."

The Tower rose towards them, filling his window with silvery, elegant metal. The scars from the battle two years ago had been patched, smoothed over. It was as if it'd never happened, which was exactly what too many people wanted to pretend. But everything had changed.

The skycar paused for CSec scans and for his credentials to be forwarded, and then arced gracefully towards the parking bay.

"Are you alright?" Dah asked, uncharacteristically hesitant. "I know if it this was about Ivan..."

"She wasn't my daughter," he said abruptly.

"She might as well have been," the Master Chief said firmly.

The car settled onto the ground as Anderson rubbed his face, exhaustion sinking deep into his bones. Jill was right. She usually was. He'd known Emilia Shepard when she was a round, giggling toddler that reminded them all of Izzy so much it was painful. When she'd driven Hannah close to insanity - his friend's analytical mind had never done well with the chaos that was a teenage girl - he'd been the one to find her and bring her home. He'd been the one to tell her that she needed to take that commission offer, use that bright mind for the benefit of those around her.

Their last conversation lingered in the back of his mind, sour as curdled milk.

_If you don't trust me -_

It'd never been about trust. He wished he'd told her that.

"I'm angry," he said at last. "That someone is trying to use her image like that. There've been enough people trying to tarnish her memory." She'd saved everyone on this damn station - might've saved everyone - and the whispers of instability had begun before her body was even cold. An already stressed mind under too much strain, he'd heard.

"We'll find out who's responsible."

They climbed out of the skycar together, resplendent in their white dress uniforms with ribbons marching across their chests, red stripes down one arm. The Tower was all about appearances. The medals had become their own kind of armour.

As soon as he entered his office space, Anderson was quickly swept up in the mundane. Paperwork, paperwork, and more paperwork. It was times like this that he was glad that Hackett had done the decidedly unconventional and given him operational command over a handful of the special operations teams that were detached for their covert task force. It was the closest he'd get back to a N7 team or a ship again unless he managed to wrangle a SASOC billet after his time as military advisor was up.

The call he made shortly before 12:00 would've been a much-needed reprieve from politics if it wasn't for its subject.

_"Sir."_

N7 Master Chief turned Corsair Captain Joseph Coyle was a whipcord thin man, with eyes like brittle slate and a face like an axe blade. He'd cut throats all across the Traverse and Terminus Systems, having long ago decided that he wasn't much fit for the society he'd dedicated most of his life to protecting. His words. The last time he'd spent much appreciable time in Alliance space had been to bury his friend.

Anderson wished he wasn't excavating old wounds by calling him, but he needed someone who was both trustworthy and able to move around the Terminus Systems freely.

"Captain. I have a mission for you."

Coyle squinted at him. _"You know I'm right on the arses of the Taharak brothers, right?"_

Another pity. The Taharak brothers had been on the Alliance's hit list for a long time. They'd caused untold amounts of sapient misery, and the day they caught bullets was a day Anderson would crack open a nice bottle of champagne.

"I understand, but this is important. If you can hand if off to another Corsair crew..."

 _"Liu's crew might be able to follow it up,"_ Coyle admitted reluctantly, _"What's so damn important?"_

"I've heard some disturbing rumours. People who've said they've seen Emilia Shepard in the Terminus Systems, alongside the goddamn Hell Hound."

The Hell Hound. Another person on the Alliance's shopping list of terrorists, slavers, and warlords. A Cerberus agent without a name, history, or origin, but one that was irritatingly good at staying one step ahead of Alliance intelligence. Black hair, blue eyes, Australian accent - not much to go on.

Coyle was silent for a long time. The first report had punched Anderson right in the gut.

_"Emilia Shepard is dead, Commodore. We were both there when they put what was left of her in the ground."_

There'd been nothing left recognisable as human, let alone the fierce little girl he'd first met, or the headstrong, brilliant woman she'd grown into. They'd had to use DNA testing to determine who the scorched bits of bone had belonged to.

"I know. But someone out there is using her face and her name. If it's Cerberus, I want to know how, who, and why. And I want them stopped."

 _"Aye aye, sir."_ There was a glint in Coyle's eyes that said this was very much personal.

After the call ended Anderson leant his chin on his fist. He almost felt sorry for whoever was responsible for these rumours. Coyle was not a man you wanted to be on the wrong side of - he just hoped he could deal with the problem before it came to the attention of Udina, Hackett or god help him, Parliament.

"Hunter is calling in, sir." His aide called.

"Patch it through."

 _"Hunter Actual reporting, sir."_ The comm screen resolved into an image of First Lieutenant Ashley Williams in full battle dress, albeit with her helmet off. When he'd first met the then-Staff Sergeant she'd been both traumatised and somewhat starstruck by himself and Shepard. Now she met his gaze steadily - but there'd been a price for that composure.

"Sitrep."

_"Primary objective has been completed, sir. We're en route to rendezvous - no sign of pursuit thus far. Think they took the bait."_

"Good to hear. Any trouble from the...package?"

Williams smiled sharply. " _No, sir. I think my shotgun left an impression on him."_

Anderson chuckled. "Well, keep me posted and don't take any risks."

_"Aye, sir."_

He paused, thinking of that report buried at the bottom of his briefcase. Williams had been close to Shepard - too close, really. If he'd found out about it when Shepard was alive, he wouldn't have minced words with her about how much of an idiot she was being, sleeping with her MARDET sergeant, but he hadn't said anything to Williams afterwards. Between Shepard and the other three Marines killed during the Alchera Ambush, Williams had come perilously close to the line of what she could take.

She'd clawed herself free of that deep grief and the recklessness it'd caused in her. Anderson was proud of her for that - for the strength and sheer obstinacy it'd taken.

Williams noticed his hesitance. _"Is there anything else, sir?"_

If he told her about the report, it'd reopen those scabbed over wounds, and she was in the middle of the Traverse dragging along a batarian scientist with SIU on her tail. Worse, it could give her false hope. "Nothing further, Hunter. Anderson out."

* * *

Shepard ran, her breath coming in spurts, her feet thumping rhythmically against the treadmill. Pressly was dead because she'd asked him to stay on the bridge while she went below to launch the distress beacon. Negulesco was dead because she'd gone to oversee the evacuation of the bridge crew.

Her chest was full of broken glass. She stepped off the treadmill and bent over, gasping for breath. Waaberi, Gung Ho, Dubyansky. They'd been there from the start, followed into her hell and back. It was too much. All of it. She felt like she was back aboard the troop carrier in 2178, staring at all those body bags, staring into a void she knew could eat her whole.

"Ten more minutes."

And then there was that. She couldn't even enjoy running because there was a beady-eyed Cerberus fuck watching her with a clipboard in hand. Like a hamster on a wheel.

She gritted her teeth. She wanted to be petty - tell him where exactly he could shove his head. Instead, she started to run again, jaw clenched. Each step was agony - she hurt all over, the dull ache of exertion overlaid with sharper pains. At least she'd healed enough in the past few weeks that twisting the wrong way didn't tear her skin open.

And Lawson wasn't here today - the way the other woman looked at her made her feel like a science experiment, which she supposed she was to her. A science project that'd gotten up and started walking around.

At least Chakwas was around sometimes, even though she wasn't a physiotherapist. She still wasn't sure what to think about that - joining a bunch of terrorists didn't fit her image of a woman who'd joked that the Alliance was her spouse, and a far more satisfying one than any person at that.

Shepard felt...weak. She'd honed her body until it could do almost anything she asked of it - now it felt like anything more than this brisk jog would have her falling on her face. She wasn't at the level she'd been after basic training, let alone what'd been required to pass N School.

Ash would laugh at her, wiggle her eyebrows, say _we need to work on your cardio, Skipper-_

Shepard decidedly veered away the thought. She needed to concentrate on escaping, and that meant cooperating with the rehab and not losing herself in what had been done to her or what she'd missed, what she'd lost.

Cerberus wanted her for something. Something big. You didn't spend all that goddamn money without wanting a payoff.

Shepard had to be ready to take her chance.

* * *

**Codex Entry**

Casualties of the Alchera Ambush:

Bakari, Jamin, 24. Leading Electrician's Mate. Killed by explosion while attempting to repair shield generators. NOK: Abasi Bakari (father).

Barret, Germeen, 19. Communications and Information Systems Technician. Killed when bridge/CIC depressurized. NOK: Siobhan Barret (mother).

Chase, Addison, 20. Gunner's Mate. Killed when Forward Gunnery compartment was destroyed. NOK: Kelly Richards (mother), Thomas Richards (stepfather).

Cosby, Silas, 22. Senior Gunner's Mate. Killed when Forward Gunnery compartment was destroyed. NOK: Billy Crosby (father), Maryanne Crosby (mother).

Draven, Rosamund, 23. Damage Controlman Third Class. Killed attempting to prevent nuclear meltdown. NOK: Talitha Draven (wife), Anna Draven (mother).

Draven, Talitha, 26. Marine Staff Sergeant (N5). Killed after returning to look for DC3 Draven. NOK: Rosamund Draven (wife) - KIA.

Dubyansky, Alexei Andreyevich, 24. Marine Sergeant (N5). Killed when bridge/CIC depressurized. NOK: Valeriya Dubyansky (wife).

Emerson, Hector, 19. Yeoman. Killed when bridge/CIC depressurized. NOK: Kiera Emerson (grandmother).

Felawa, Robert, 19. Damage Controlman. Killed attempting to prevent nuclear melt down. NOK: Janet Felawa (mother).

Gladstone, Harvey J, 21. Senior Electronics Technician. Killed when bridge/CIC depressurized. NOK: Jeremiah Gladstone (uncle).

Grenado, Caroline, 22. Sub-Lieutenant (flight officer). Killed when bridge/CIC depressurized. NOK: Alejandro Grenado (brother).

Grieco, Marcus, 20. Senior Steward. Killed when Normandy exploded. NOK: Carmen Rodriguez (mother), Diego Greico (father).

Laflamme, Orden, 21. Senior Damage Controlman. Killed attempting to prevent nuclear meltdown. NOK: Colette Aurier-Laflamme (mother), Jerome Laflamme (father).

Lowe, Helen M, 20. Combat Systems Operator. Killed when bridge/CIC depressurized. NOK: Diana Lowe (mother).

Negulesco, Monica, 45. Command Master Chief Petty Officer. Trapped below decks while orchestrating evacuation of Engineering. NOK: Andrei Negulesco (husband).

Pakti, Abishek, 22. Leading Electronic Warfare Specialist. Killed when bridge/CIC depressurized. NOK: Saanvi Abishek (wife).

Pressly, Charles, 43. Lieutenant Commander (Executive Officer). Killed when bridge/CIC depressurized. NOK: Lin Pressly (wife).

Rahman, Mandira, 37. Chief Master-At-Arms. Killed by explosion. NOK: Sai Mandira (father), Anaya Mandira (daughter).

Tanaka, Raymond, 25. Lieutenant (Executive Assistant). Killed when bridge/CIC depressurized. NOK: Hai Tanaka-Lee (husband).

Tucks, Carlton, 26. Lieutenant (Supply Officer). Trapped below decks during evacuation. NOK: Tammy Richards (sister).

Waaberi, Amina, 23. Marine Corporal (N5). Hit by shrapnel during evacuation, DOW. NOK: Absimil Waaberi (father), Caaliyah Waaberi (mother).


	3. A Colonial Mystery

_Does this make me a zombie?_

Emilia Shepard laid on her back, staring at the ceiling. The thought was less amusing than she'd hoped, but she wasn't going to worry until she started shambling around.

08:00 to 20:00 she was in the thick of the Cerberus medical team's rehab plan. The rest of the time her small, if comfortable, room was locked. They didn't want her wandering around at night - or freely. As oddly idealistic Taylor seemed she doubted he'd forget that she'd thrown him into a wall anytime soon.

She was recovering, or so Miranda said. Her head didn't hurt as much or as often, she could run for longer and she'd actually broken the bag the last time she'd punched it. But she still felt like a collection of injuries and broken things tied together. There were still disturbing gaps in her memories she tried not to think about too much. The old familiar pain - the stiffness when she raised her arm from the burn scars, the knee that ached when she sat down for too long - the scars she'd earnt, all of it had been supplanted by the rawness of her patchwork body and the slashes of red splitting her chin and cheek.

In the right light, she could still see the pinprick of red buried in dark brown irises.

If Shepard closed her eyes, she could almost imagine she was back in her cabin, smelling the sharp scent of military detergent on her sheets, listening to the soft humming of the ship's machinery. Like she could just get up and walk out her cabin door to see Draven and Waaberi fucking around with their guys. She could have breakfast with Pressly.

But the _Normandy_ was gone, and they were dead. A sharp knife of grief ripped through her, and she curled around it, squeezing her eyes tightly shut. Everything was wrong.

She wished she could go back. Maybe Caroline Grenado had been right when she'd gone about infinite timelines and metaphysics. Maybe there was another time where Shepard ordered Joker to run immediately. Where she hadn't gotten used to using the IES crutch. Where twenty-one of her people didn't die for a few sensor readings.

"Shepard." The door slid open, and she sat up as Miranda entered the room. "Time to get up."

"So much for privacy," Shepard said dryly.

"Get dressed."

It wasn't the first time a beautiful woman had watched her get dressed, but it was distinctly the second least pleasant. The first being the time after she and Rita had just had incredibly depressing we're-getting-divorced sex.

"What's the rush?" she asked as she followed the Operative out into the busy, blindingly white hallways, rubbing her shoulder as if she could force the ache out.

"The Illusive Man wants to talk to you," Lawson said crisply.

"Oh, _wonderful_ ," Shepard muttered, stepping around another Cerberus agent. "I'd thought he'd forgotten all about me."

Lawson shot her a glare. "Your psyche profiles didn't mention you were _petty_ , Shepard."

"Commander," she corrected mildly, "and I'm pretty sure those are supposed to be private. You lot aren't keen on medical ethics, are you? Fail that course in university?"

"Through there," Lawson pointed, ignoring her.

Shepard tossed her an ironic salute and went down the corridor. There was no cigarette-smoking arsehole waiting for her, just a softly-glowing circle on the floor. She sighed heavily and stepped forward, crossing her arms as a lattice of orange light ran across her body.

"Illusive Man," Shepard said flatly as he appeared on the holo in front of her, lounging in his chair. He liked his expensive toys, apparently.

"Commander Shepard." He drew on his cigarette before releasing a puff of smoke. "I'm sure you would've preferred an in-person meeting, but it's a necessary precaution. Not unusual for people who know what we know."

_That I'd do my best to snap your neck like a twig if we were in the same room?_

Her voice was flat. "Enlighten me." Her voice was flat.

"The Reapers," he said calmly. "As I told you last time we spoke." Over Leigh Godfrey's body. "You need to put your personal feelings aside - in the coming war there will be only two teams, and I assure you, we are on the same one."

Her jaw clenched, her hands curling into fists. _Personal feelings._ Personal feelings? She'd buried her entire team because of him. She hadn't survived out of sheer grit or being better than the rest of her N5s or any of the bullshit people liked to trot out. She'd lived because Master Sergeant Jeremy Richardson had taken the acid blast meant for her.

"I am not a terrorist. I'm not a human supremacist. I don't believe in your grand cause. Why did you bring me back?" She owed him her life. It was a profoundly uncomfortable state of affairs.

He paused for another draw. "How are you feeling?"

"Spare me the pleasantries." Like hell she was going to make small talk with a terrorist leader.

He didn't seem phased. "We're at war - a war the Alliance and Council would prefer to ignore. While you've been sleeping, entire colonies have been disappearing. Human colonies. There are no signs of struggle or battle, or of who is responsible."

Horror struck deep inside her. Hundreds, thousands of people? "The colonies are the Alliance's responsibility."

"No Alliance colony has been targeted yet," he said evenly. "Only independent colonies in the Traverse and Terminus. They seem content to ignore the problem while it doesn't affect their citizens, and even if there was the political will to address it, it's in places where they can't openly intervene."

"And you believe it's connected to the Reapers?"

"Yes. Someone working for them, as Saren did. Sovereign preferred to work from the shadows until it was forced to act openly. It seems that the Reapers attempt to cause discord and chaos before their invasions - divide and conquer, if you would."

"Why humans?" She wasn't a fool - there were plenty of species who outnumbered humanity, who were better established on the galactic stage and had deeper alliances. In the Reapers' place, she would focus on disrupting the Hierarchy, the linchpin of Citadel Space.

...Not that she was volunteering to give the Reapers strategic advice.

"Perhaps you got their attention when you destroyed a Reaper."

"The Fifth Fleet destroyed Sovereign," she said stiffly.

"Your actions during the Eden Prime War are why we brought you back. You bested Saren, and you've spoken to a Reaper. On top of your exemplary skills, and whether you like it or not, you're a symbol to humanity now. 'The Lion of Elysium and the Savior of the Citadel.' Evidence of what humanity is capable of."

Hackett had said something similar to her, after the Battle of the Citadel. She liked it even less coming from the Illusive Man. She was just a Marine - talented at war but not so great at the actual human being part.

"I had the Alliance behind me," she said dryly. "I'll need them unless you have a secret infantry division hidden away somewhere."

He waved a dismissive hand. "The Alliance will never work with us."

"With you," she corrected. "I'm still an Alliance officer."

"They declared you KIA. What do you think happens if you walk onto an Alliance post after two years?"

She'd end up detained with a bunch of intel types trying to work out where she'd been and why. It'd be comfortable detention and eventually get sorted out, but it'd take time as it ground through the maze of naval bureaucracy. Possibly months.

The Illusive Man had seen the flicker across her expression and seized on it. "They'll tie your hands while colonists continue to disappear. I'm not asking you to take this all on faith, Shepard. I have a shuttle waiting to take you to Freedom's Progress - the most recent colony to go dark. Operatives Lawson and Taylor will you accompany you - I trust you'll find their field skills more than adequate."

"This sounds like I'm being voluntold," she said dryly.

"There's always a choice. If you don't find what we're both looking for, we can part ways."

The choice to stay here and rot or get her hands on her amp and a gun again wasn't much of a choice. She wasn't stupid enough to think Cerberus would spend billions of credits on her and then just let her walk away with no return on investment.

"Fine," she said tersely, "but I'm not taking orders from either of them."

Rita had told her once she was a control freak. Maybe she was. Either way, she was grabbing any bit of control she could get. She felt like a puppet on a string and she was sick of it already.

"You are the most qualified," the Illusive Man conceded, "it's your operation."

* * *

"Taylor," Shepard said calmly, "I'd rather stab myself in the eye with a needle than use a _Shuriken_. Their only use is gunfights in a closet."

Jacob frowned at her. They stood in the station's armour, racks of guns lining the walls. Miranda was already waiting for them at the shuttle, going over the intelligence they had on Freedom's Progress. Jacob knew better than to give her advice about what weapons she should use. "We'll be fighting in close quarters. The extra rounds downrange compared to a semi-automatic pistol could be vital."

"There is nothing a machine pistol can do better than a rifle or carbine. Just give me a rifle and shotgun, and I'll be good to go. Unless you've got a M12 carbine?"

"Unfortunately not." It was a pity. The M12 Locust carbine had something of a dark reputation after some nutjob used it to kill two presidents, but it was a beautiful gun. Developed originally for the Alliance Army for armoured crews and spec ops, it was accurate and hit harder than the M8.

"My dreams are crushed," she said lightly. "What rifles have you got?"

Jacob liked her a lot more when they were talking guns rather than when she was throwing him into hard surfaces. "Got some M8s and a couple of M96s."

M96s were much older than the Avengers, but the Alliance still used them for marksmen rifles, at least in those units that didn't use M15s instead.

"Gimme a M8," she decided. "You're right - we'll probably need the rate of fire."

"Roger that. Got some Onyx hardsuits here - not quite your old modified kit, I imagine, but it'll be familiar, and it should stop you from getting shot." N7s were given a lot of leeway in modifying their equipment and Spectres could do whatever the hell they wanted.

"Got your hands on Alliance hardsuits, huh?"

"I'm good at procurement," he said with a small smile.

"That's what they're calling it these days." She chuckled. "Alright. It'll do."

She still didn't trust him, but he hoped she was getting that they had things in common. That they both wanted to do the right thing. The SADF was bureaucratic and stuffed full of politics. No, you can't chase that pirate there cause it'll upset so-and-so who is connected to so-and-so who the AIA are using to fight another bag of dicks. Even the Corsairs had their fair share of people just there to climb.

He wasn't sure he trusted the Illusive Man, but so far he'd just told Jacob to do what needed doing. No paperwork required.

"You're former Alliance," Shepard said abruptly, checking over the M8 he handed her.

"Yes, ma'am. Enlisted in the Marine Corps right outta high school, in '75. Eight years in the infantry and Raiders. Even did some time as a Corsair. My last posting was the 12th Marine Regiment."

"Oh shit," she said, surprised. "During Eden Prime?"

"Yes, ma'am. 1/12. Lost a lot of friends that day - woulda lost more if not for you. Got out soon after. You were dead, and it just seemed like everyone wanted to brush it up the rug. But I know what I saw, and I felt like I owed it to my brothers and sisters who died that day to try and do something. Miranda offered me a way to make a difference." Eden Prime had been beautiful, even though Jacob had felt in a rut, wondering what to do with himself now he'd left the Corsairs and had found himself shuffled off to a colonial garrison while his attempts to get back into the 103rd were considered. The geth had turned it into a hell of fire and blood.

"You're an idealist, Taylor," she surmised.

"I try to be," he slid an ammo block into his shotgun. "It's not always easy."

"Tell me about it. Mind helping fit me for my armour?"

"No problem, ma'am." He helped her into her armour with professional hands and eyes. "How's it feel?"

"You know your maintenance, Taylor. I'll give you that." She twisted experimentally, checking that the plates were all on right, no pinches or restrictions, and nodded with satisfaction. "Now, c'mon. Let's not keep Lawson waiting too much longer."

"Commander," he started, almost despite himself

.

She paused in the doorway and cast a curious glance back at him. "Yeah?"

"Are we...good?"

A furrow formed between her dark eyebrows as she contemplated that. "I'm not going to throw you into any more walls if that's what you're worried about."

He smiled. "It's a start, ma'am."

* * *

"I just don't understand what's going on here," Tali said softly as she rolled a limp and battered Flotilla Marine onto his side. Shepard immediately began splinting his shattered forearm, her hands and eyes steady. The same expression Tali remembered from when Virmire had turned the _Normandy's_ crew deck into a charnel house.

"I woke up a few weeks ago," Shepard replied, not looking up from her work. "My body feels like someone used it as a soccer ball and my memory has enough holes in it to resemble swiss cheese. I feel like they're telling the truth - about my death at least."

She spat the _death_ part like the word hurt her. Maybe it did. Tali half wanted to touch her face to make sure she was real. That she was really here. Shepard had been the first alien to treat her with fairness and kindness, as brusque and martial as she could come across sometimes. She'd trusted her when few would.

When Ashley had messaged her to say that the _Normandy_ had been destroyed and that Rosie and Shepard were dead...the galaxy had felt suddenly colder and emptier. Her father had told her that spending all the resources required to go back to Alliance space for the funerals of two humans was foolishness.

She'd gone anyway. Stood amongst the seas of white and blue uniforms as they'd presented flags to each woman's mother. Hannah Shepard had been so still and hard that she'd seemed carved out of diamond. Anna Draven had sobbed in heaving gasps. She'd taken the flag from Talitha's casket too - her daughter in law had had no family outside of Rosie.

And now Shepard was alive and in the company of Cerberus agents.

"But-"

"I know. Trust me, I know." Shepard's jaw clenched. If the quarians hated Cerberus, Emilia Shepard had hated them more. Tali had seen her kill many times, but she thought that killing Cerberus agents had been the only time where it seemed Shepard _enjoyed_ it.

"I am very glad you're alive," Tali said softly and Shepard gave her a weak smile.

"How...how are the others?"

"I haven't spoken to Liara or Garrus in over a year," Tali admitted. She didn't tell her that Liara hadn't come to the funeral. "They just kind of…dropped out of contact. Garrus left CSec, and Ashley is still with the Alliance. She emails me sometimes."

"How's she doing?" Shepard didn't look at her, but her shoulders were stiff.

Tali paused. They'd always had a connection, Williams and Shepard. "She took what happened pretty hard, but I think she's doing better now. She and Jaz are still working together."

"That's good," Shepard said very softly. "God knows that boy needs someone to keep him out of trouble - or the brig."

Tali smiled, a little wistfully. Nick, Amina, and Jaz had gotten up to such trouble. Seeing any of them barrelling out of a door was sure evidence they'd done _something_ and were likely to be chased down by a fuming Negulesco. But Nick had died after Virmire and Amina after Alchera.

"Listen," Shepard glanced over her shoulder, locating where Lawson and Taylor were keeping watch. They were out of earshot. "Can you do something for me?"

"Of course," she said immediately.

"Tell the Alliance I'm alive. Anderson or Hackett - or even my mother. Just...let them know."

"You could come with me." Tali grabbed her arm, squeezing even though neither of them could feel it through their suits. Cerberus had only sent those two operatives - they could be incapacitated or simply outrun in the ship Tali had brought. "We've sheltered fugitives from Cerberus before."

"And how well did that work out?"

Tali looked down. The _Idenna_ had driven off the Cerberus attack, but not without cost.

Shepard sighed. "I don't think they'll let me go without a fight, and I can't bring that down on your people. Just...just let the Alliance know. Please."

"I will," she promised.

"C'mon. We'll help you get your wounded onto your ship so you can get outta here." Shepard's smile wasn't quite sincere as she helped Tali up.

"Do you think the Reapers really are involved with the Collectors and...all this?" she asked, waving a hand in the direction of Freedom Progress' awful emptiness. The dinners left on tables, the HVs still humming.

"It sounds like their MO, but it's far from conclusive at this point," Shepard replied, her expression once again locked down and blank. She'd always kept a part of her back from them on the _Normandy_ \- but there was something brittle about her composure now.

"Shepard," she said abruptly once they'd carried the last of the wounded quarians aboard, "be careful."

With Cerberus, with the Alliance, with these Collectors.

Shepard smiled a resigned half-smile. "I'll try. See ya around the galaxy, Tali'Zorah."

The ship's ramp closed between them. Tali understood Shepard's logic, but leaving her here still felt like a betrayal.

* * *

"Let me go, you filthy _monkey_!" The batarian's screeching had reached a decibel previously unheard of by human ears.

First Lieutenant Ashley Williams was suddenly very glad for her helmet.

"That hurts my feelings, blink," Staff Sergeant Lewandowski said, grinning under his visor. His grip never loosened on the batarian's zip-tied hands as he propelled the alien man forward through the shrubbery, branches whipping at their legs.

Henera was a nominally independent planet. Nominally. In reality, it was dominated by the batarian Hegemony's interests, but it was enough wiggle room for Anderson to approve this operation.

They'd spent two weeks getting onto Henera with both cover identities and their weapons, and then working their way closer to Karok Cas'nanak, a scientist for the batarian military, who had been visiting his wife's family on the planet for two months. It'd taken only thirty minutes to more or less toss him in their boot, and a week and a half to escape the capital and send the police in the wrong direction.

She was ready to be off this planet already. They'd had to abandon the skycar, and she was getting pretty sick of walking, if she was honest. She did feel the spark of satisfaction that would only be fully realised when she handed Cas'nanak off to Hackett's AIA team.

He was on the List, with ties to the Hegemony's Leviathan project - one that sounded far too familiar to be comfortable.

Karok began screeching again.

"Ma'am," Ski began formally, "permission to clock this motherfucker, ma'am?"

"If you knock him out, you're carrying him," she said idly. The twelve Marines of Hunter Team had spread out through the scrub, with Staff Sergeant Kouvelis, Corporal Mun and Sergeant Molina ahead as the 'recce' group. Chou was walking just ahead of Ash, keeping an eye on the area around them with her drone.

They were nearly to the LZ, beyond the capital's AA guns, where the SSV _Achilles_ could pick them up and spirit them off back to Alliance space.

The batarian shut up after Ski threatened to gag him. In the ensuing silence, she could hear the crunch of the brush beneath her boots, her own breathing inside her helmet. The irony was that Henera was a beautiful planet, in a desolate, semi-arid way. The sunsets took her breath away, dripping reds and oranges and yellows across the sky.

But you couldn't spend much time in the settlements without being confronted by the ugly truth of sentient suffering the planet depended on. Henera was amongst the terrible of markets - a gateway where the slavers who preyed on the Attican Traverse could offload their 'cargo' to the middlemen who sold to the Hegemony's top castes. Just walking through the city had Ash's chest seizing with rage, her fingers itching for a trigger.

That was part of why it'd been so easy, capturing Cas'nanak. A scientist from the Hegemony's wealthy and educated noble caste he'd rarely left planets like this one - every human he'd met before had likely been of the broken slave kind. He hadn't been expecting a mere human to punch his lights out, zip-tie him and toss him in a skycar boot.

Punching the fucker had felt good. Good enough she'd been tempted to take another swing, let out some of that pent up anger. Threatening him later with her shotgun hadn't had the same visceral satisfaction, but it had been funny to see him jump.

"You're in charge." Cas'nanak narrowed his upper eyes in Ashley's direction, the lower pair still focused warily on Lewandowski.

"If you're only now working that out, I have even deeper concerns for the Hegemony's education system than I already did."

"Whatever they're paying you, I can pay more. My father is -"

"There's not enough credits in the galaxy."

"Boss," Chou hissed and she raised a hand in a fist. The entire formation froze, Ski jerking Cas'nanak to a stop. Ash left the batarian and headed over to her drone operator.

"What is it?" she asked lowly, so that the batarian couldn't overhear.

Chou angled her arm so Ash could see her omnitool screen displaying the drone feed. Movement in the brush ahead. "Looks like a contact to me. Squad strength."

"Yeah. They've got weapons."

Master Sergeant Sūn suddenly appeared behind her, so abruptly she almost jumped. "They're well-equipped. Think it's our SIU friends?"

"Most likely," Ash agreed.

Chou worried at her bottom lip with her teeth. "How'd they find us?"

"They don't know we're here - look, they're still searching," Sūn pointed out.

"Mixture of luck and not being as braindead as the Heneran authorities," Ash shrugged. "They're in our way."

"If we kill them the Henerans will be on us like flies on shit," Sūn grunted.

"The _Achilles_ is just waiting for our word. We'll be out before they can stop us," Ash said firmly.

Sūn shot her a look. "Hope your boyfriend can live up to your faith, Boss."

She rolled her eyes. She was pretty sure Sūn just disapproved of the fact that Gabriel was a squid. Nevermind the amount of times the _Achilles_ had pulled them out of hot LZs. Or the fact that they were taking it slow enough that Sarah had called it _'the galaxy's most glacial relationship,_ seriously _, Ash'._ "I don't date anyone who's incompetent."

Chou giggled.

"Let's set up and ambush these fuckers." There was no love lost between MARSOC and SIU. They worked their way carefully through the scrub, leaving Mun and Chou to keep a watch on Karok. He was the whole point of this, after all. Slowly, slowly, towards the enemy squad.

SIU were well-trained and fanatical, moving in silence and clearly searching for the Marines. Later, Ash was going to work out how they'd tracked them down after the Heneran authorities had taken her bait so readily.

Right now though...

She took Element A's leader, Charger, and their machinegunner, Molina, with her to get in front of the SIU formation while the rest of Hunter Team spread out along their flank.

Ash knelt and stared down the scope of her Saber marksman rifle, right at the batarian pointman. He was dressed in the blood red armour of the SIU, a BSA rifle in his arms. The guy behind him had a goddamn Kishock. Ashley's jaw firmed.

Never brought up good memories, those. Her reticle hovered over his chest. Waiting, waiting.

When she was satisfied the SIU squad was in their killzone, she pulled the trigger. One, twice, three times, four. The first two shots smashed down the Kishock gunner's shields. The third round buried itself deep into his abdomen, and the fourth struck his chest. He went down.

Over the next two seconds, the Marines followed her example, with the ear-splitting thunder of LMGs, the cracks of rifles and shriek of carbines. Ashley mechanically pulled the trigger again and again at anything moving. Bullets scythed through the foliage, shattering branches and tearing leaves.

Ten seconds.

Ash couldn't see anything moving. She pulled the ejection lever, the port spitting out a bright burning heatsink that sizzled when it hit the leaves under her feet.

"Cease fire, cease fire."

The gunfire tapered off. She scanned the limp piles of ceramic and deep red batarian blood, looking for movement.

"Got a live one," Charger called, the big Greek sergeant pointing. The batarian had been hit by machinegun spray, his legs and abdomen peppered with holes, but he was dragging himself along by digging his hands into the dirt.

"Couldn't shoot straight, Hernandez?" Jaz called out.

"Fuck you," the sergeant shot back, slotting a new heatsink into her Typhoon. "It was probably Molina."

"Only if Typhoons fire along right angle trajectories," Molina grumbled.

Hospitalman Third Class Okri took a step forward before Jaz grabbed his shoulder. The corpsman pulled himself free irritably. "He's wounded."

"He's also SIU," Jaz pointed out, his young face hard. "Remember what happened last time we ran into these guys?"

Blood, blood and more blood. They'd all had close brushes with death - Hernandez had very nearly died. Ash much preferred this method of dealing with SIU units - ambushing them rather than having to dig them out in CQB.

"Ma'am," Okri protested, turning to look at her, "it's our duty." She was kind of impressed with how strongly the guy had clung to his idealism, despite a tour with the 4th MARDIV against the geth and then everything that had happened in the past year that Hunter Team had existed.

She studied the wounded man through her scope. "We don't have time for the sort of medical aid he needs. Not if we're gonna get to the _Achilles_ before his buddies catch up with us."

"So what?" Okri demanded hotly. "We just leave him here? Ling, c'mon man..."

The older corpsman glanced at the younger and then at Ash. "Her call, Okri."

The batarian reached towards one of the corpses, one with a rocket launcher hanging off his shoulder. It was possible he was just reaching for his very dead friend. It was also possible he was reaching for the rocket launcher to try and take some of them with him. She made up her mind.

Her finger squeezed the trigger, and the Saber shuddered in his hand. The batarian jerked and went still.

"Are you kidding me?" Okri demaded.

She lowered her rifle. "He was reaching for a weapon."

"How fucking convenient," he hissed back.

"That's enough," she snapped. "Charger, tell Chou and Mun to get up here. I'll call the ship."

Anderson had told her when he'd given her this team that it would challenge her in new ways, some of which she might not expect. She'd dismissed that at first - still feeling the wounds of everything that'd been thrown at her in 2183. What else could the galaxy do to her? But during the Eden Prime War, there'd always been someone to turn to if she needed to. Kaidan, Shepard. With Hunter Team it was usually just her.

She'd asked Shepard once how she knew she'd made the right choices.

_"Sometimes there are no right choices. You just have to do the best you can on the information you have."_

Ash thrust the thoughts away. Shepard wasn't here, and she never would be again. There was work to be done and no one else to do it.

But God, it'd be easier if the grief didn't still creep up on her sometimes like a stalking predator with sharp, cold claws.

Ashley opened a comm channel. "Cab Driver, this is Hunter. How copy?"

Lieutenant Gabriel Broudier's smooth French accent filtered into her helmet. He'd taken the callsign thing with resigned amusement. _"Hunter, this is Cab Driver. Loud and clear, over."_

"Requesting immediate pick up from the LZ. We might be having company soon, over."

_"What exactly did you do? Over."_

"Wasted a SIU patrol," she replied lightly, "so step on it, over."

_"You really love making my life hard, over."_

"Just keeping things interesting. We're en route now, over."

_"Roger that. We'll see you soon. Cab Driver out."_

* * *

**Codex Entry**

Hunter Team:

_MARINE SPECIAL OPERATIONS TEAM 27 - C/S 'HUNTER'_

MARINE SPECIAL OPERATIONS COMPANY 9, 2ND MARINE RAIDER BATTALION, 1ST MARINE RAIDER REGIMENT, 103RD MARINE DIVISION

First Lieutenant Ashley 'Ash/Boss' Williams: team leader, scout-sniper. Colonist (Sirona), UNAS and Brazilian heritage. Born 2156. _Normandy_ veteran.

Master Sergeant Tyler Sūn: assistant team leader. Chinese. Born 2143.

TACTICAL ELEMENT A

Staff Sergeant Adrian 'Charger' Kouvelis: element leader, breacher. Greek. Born 2155.

Sergeant Marcio Molina: assistant element leader, machinegunner. Cuban. Born 2160. _Normandy_ veteran.

Corporal Ji-Hye 'Brains' Mun: pointman. Korean. Born 2159. _Normandy_ veteran.

Lance Corporal Lei Chou: drone operator. From Shanxi. Born 2162. _Normandy_ veteran.

Hospitalman Second Class Xu 'Doc' Ling: special reconaissance corpsman. Chinese. Born 2160. _Normandy_ veteran.

TACTICAL ELEMENT B

Staff Sergeant Troy 'Ski' Lewandowski: element leader, marksman. American. Born 2154.

Sergeant Maria Hernandez: assistant element leader, biotic (L3). Uruguayan. Born 2157.

Corporal Jason 'Jaz' Teke: pointman/breacher. Colonist (Sathur), Canadian and Turkish heritage. Born 2161. _Normandy_ veteran.

Corporal Li Wei: machinegunner. Chinese. Born 2160.

Hospitalman Third Class Omonoro Okri : special reconnaissance corpsman. Nigerian. Born 2161.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First couple of chapters of Encroachment have been revised. Couple of new scenes and some polishing. A ew mistakes in the last two chapters have bee nfixed as well.
> 
> Also this is a machine pistol and SMG hate account, with the exception of the M12 Locust which is more like a carbine anyway.


	4. Ghosts

Shepard had dreamt of Elysium and Akuze for years, dreamt of the smoke and blood, the hole in Bian's skull (and oh God, she couldn't remember her face or the colour of her eyes), and Richardson's flesh giving way when her rescuers had pulled him from her grip. Now, those old dreams were mixed with new ones. Colonists crawling with blue lines, the humanity draining out of them. Worlds that felt as familiar as Earth or Arcturus burning, worlds she'd never set foot on, worlds whose names no longer meant anything.

And the cold. Cold to the bone, cold freezing her lungs solid, tearing her apart from the inside and the deep black wrapping around her.

Shepard never wanted to be cold again. She lay on her back, in the soft sheets provided by Cerberus, panting and staring at the now-closed viewing port - and wasn't _that_ some sort of sick joke? Sweat trickled down her face and some newly released chart topper pounded in her ear. It had been silent, except for the hiss of air escaping.

When she'd died.

It didn't seem real. Like she would get out of bed, pull on some fatigues and walk out the cabin to find Pressly waiting with her reports or Ashley with a cup of coffee and a quip. But Pressly was dead, what she could find on Ashley had enough redactions to put her own file to shame, and all her uniforms had Cerberus logos on them. She wouldn't have been surprised to find the symbol on her damned underwear.

_Hey, just in case you forgot who you work for now. Remember who you owe your life to._

She rubbed her face, feeling the scars under her fingertips. Her hands kept curling at her side, itching for a gun. Two years. She was alone with the soft, just there hum of the drive core. You couldn't rewind time with a bullet; she was rendered impotent, seething with a fury that had nowhere to go.

Cerberus would make a decent substitute, an impulse murmured. Take the rifle from the desk, work her way down from Deck 1 to the shuttle bay. They were the enemy, they were terrorists, they were Kahoku's body in a flag-drapped casket, they were an AMRU team waiting for extraction that never came.

The knowledge that she was trapped left her appreciating why an animal might gnaw its own leg off to escape. She had to keep reminding herself that she needed to stay calm, stay patient. Get resources Lawson couldn't easily confiscate - maybe even work on Taylor. Flipping someone was just finding what motivated them, where leverage could be applied. Just another covert mission.

This ship, this crew, they were nothing like those cells. More strings, tangling her up.

The rage beat through her like a drum. Was this what the Illusive Man thought was her thirty pieces of silver? A shiny new vessel wearing the skin of _her_ ship, a new enemy and she'd forget the loyalty that ran through her like blood?

The Alliance was family, duty, purpose. After Akuze, it had been a throw ring to cling to, keep her head above the water.

She pushed herself up, wiping off the sweat beading on her forehead, before she slumped into the seat at her desk, powering up the terminal. She opened up a browser when she saw that the ship was still pinging back and forth with an extranet buoy. Methodically, she began to run through the sites she usually frequented.

Most of her accounts were closed or deactivated; bank accounts, emails, social media, even her gaming profiles. On the holo screen before her, she saw that the slate of her life had been wiped clean. There was nothing she had that hadn't come from Cerberus.

She rubbed her forehead and opened up GalacticNetwork. She didn't try to log into her account. Even if she could, what? She'd post a status saying 'hey everyone, actually alive, oops'?

Unlike her mother and grandparents, her brother's profile wasn't set to private. A hard lump formed in her throat as his holo sprung up. She slipped through posts and pictures, evidence of two years of his life she'd missed. He wasn't a seventeen year old boy anymore; the baby fat had melted from his cheeks and left him as angular as their mother, with a serious cast to his amber eyes that hadn't been there before.

Here, a picture of him on a beach, smiling, there a picture of him in a midshipman's dress whites, a girl with dyed blue hair hanging onto his arm. He'd never wanted to be in the Navy - he'd talked about becoming a social worker. But his profile read 'Attends Systems Alliance Navy Academy' and there was a taste in her mouth - grief or regret.

She'd never been the best sister. Nicolas had been only six when she'd enlisted in the Marines and she'd visited maybe once a year after that. She'd missed birthdays, Christmases, the first time he got his heart broken, graduation. She didn't want to think that he was chasing after her ghost when she'd never done right by him.

The cursor hovered over the search bar. Then Shepard closed the browser. Ashley had never been one for GalacticNetwork anyway.

* * *

"How's she doing?"

" _Jesus,_ Shepard," Joker hissed, jolting in the pilot's chair. The great thing about the deck leading to the cockpit was that he could hear Lawson and friends coming - but not apparently Shepard. "I see some things don't change. Still like giving pilots bloody heart attacks."

"You'll live," Shepard said mildly, dropping into the co-pilot seat and stretching until something popped. Then she winced and rolled her shoulder. "How's the ship?"

"Like a dream, he said with satisfaction. The ship _fit_ him.

"That's one word for it," she murmured, running a hand along the back of the co-pilot chair, dark eyebrows drawing together.

"Real leather," he blurted out, swiping at a holo hard enough he almost fractured a finger.

"And yet I'm pretty sure they pulled the crew off cargo freighters," Shepard said dourly, "There's two crewmen in the CIC department who were Navy. _Two_ , Joker."

"That's what we're here for. Instill some military discipline. Yes ma'am, no ma'am. You know."

The corner of her mouth twitched, "Joker, if you're now the example of military decorum, we're in real trouble."

"Well, you're enough dashing Navy officer for the both of us. I'm not even military anymore."

"What happened?" Her tone was casual, but Joker knew fishing when he saw it.

He grimaced. "There was an investigation into the loss of the _Normandy_. I lost flight status and got a Letter of Reprimand - you know what that means." She frowned in response. It was as good as the end of your career - no promotion board would give you rank with that on your record. "Anyway, I resigned, which is what the Navy was after anyway."

Shepard shook her head. "What happened wasn't your fault. No one saw that ship coming, least of all me. We might as well have thrown rocks for all the good it did."

Her voice practically dripped with bitterness. He opened his mouth, then closed it. The look in her eyes warned him that she didn't really want to talk about what had happened above Alchera. And what could he even say? 'Sorry I got you killed, my bad'? Pretty sure they didn't sell _that_ gift basket.

"Do you...do you think the attack had something to do with them?" For two years he'd seen flashes of fire behind his eyelids when he slept. The crisp blue and white flags over two very different women's coffins. His fault.

"Had to have been one of their proxies. They're the only ones with that sort of tech," Shepard said, jaw clenching, "Unless someone reverse engineered in like five seconds flat."

He didn't think now was the time to bring up that it probably had been at this point, if the rumours about further Alliance-Hierarchy joint projects were true.

"You're probably right. Revenge for their buddy, I guess."

"Yeah, well, we'll return the favour," she said flatly.

"Hrm, pretty sure they call that the cycle of violence, Commander."

"So how'd you get from resigning to Cerberus?" Her gaze sharpened. She cared what his answer to this question was - she cared a lot. Knowing Shepard was a dangerous person and seeing it in the cutting gaze now levelled at him were two very different things. "Leather seats?"

Joker studied his displays very intently. The controls were practically a carbon copy of the old girl's. "Look, Commander..."

"Seeing you and Chakwas - it was a relief. But I still don't understand why the both of you are here."

Shepard had never liked not knowing things. Oh sure, she'd known how to delegate, but God help the person who didn't let her know what was going on with her ship and crew.

Cerberus had hit rewind on the biggest mistake of his life. They'd given him his wings back.

"After you died," he shook his head, "it was like the Council and the Alliance wanted to bury what had happened. Or at least enough politicians did. They couldn't quite discredit you because you know, Lion of Elysium and Savior of the Citadel, but they sure did spread enough rumours and whispers. As far as I know, Anderson and Hackett are still fighting the good fight or whatever, but plenty of people in Parliament and the Council started dragging their feet."

"Of course," she said dryly, "shove all the rubble under the rug."

"You don't seem surprised," he observed.

Her half-smile was all resignation. "I made a lot of enemies, and then I started yelling that the sky was falling."

Joker looked away. "So you know, I'm grounded and then out of a job, and the Powers That Be seemed more interested in arguing about whether we should prepare at all for the death-squids from dark space than actually _doing_ anything. Then I got the job offer. At first I didn't know it was Cerberus, but one day Jacob shows up with all this stuff about how Cerberus believes in the Reapers, howthey're trying to prepare. And they said that they were bringing you back."

Shepard's gaze lost some of its coldness but it was no less penetrating. "I see."

"How do you," he waved a hand, "feel about all this?"

"Two weeks ago I was on the SR1," Shepard said slowly, "then I woke up right in the middle of all this. I don't know, Joker. I just...I need to get my feet under me."

"At least it's good to be home?" His chest had seized up the first time they'd shown him the new _Normandy_. It was his baby resurrected.

Shepard shook her head. "This isn't my ship, Joker. And even if it was, home was the people not just the place. We're never getting that back."

"We're half an hour out," he said quietly. _I'll see you soon,_ Frag had said, but instead she'd been obliterated by a lash of molten metal. Her brother had gotten back a couple of bones.

Shepard squared her shoulders and reached over to hit the PA system. "Lawson an Taylor to the armoury." When she released the button she shook her head irritably. "Whoever put the armoury on the command deck needs to be shot."

Joker smiled and nodded. Best thing to do when Marines started talking about guns and things related to guns.

"See ya." She clapped him gently on the shoulder.

"Shepard, thanks for-" when he twisted around she was gone. Like a ninja.

Or a ghost.

* * *

The doors of Afterlife slid closed behind them, muting the bassy club music that was halfway to giving Miranda a headache. Her shoulders relaxed slightly - dealing with Aria and her thugs had hardly been relaxing, particularly when Shepard had offered to shove the batarian's scanner where scanners shouldn't go. She'd known the Commander had something of a temper but it was much more aggravating to deal with than she'd hoped.

Omega stank like the cesspit it resembled. Miranda decided she would have a lengthy shower as soon as they returned to the ship and wash her hair at least three times. Aria T'Loak might have cared about Omega in her own way but clearly essential services such as who picked up the trash had never been high up on her priority list.

Shepard stopped to look at her omnitool, orange line sheeting down her arm and reflecting off the glossy black of her new armour. Jacob had pulled out the stops to get the Commander a proper set of N7 armour and the Lieberschaft 2180 now across her back. They'd spent the entire time from the docks to Afterlife enthusiastically discussing the shotgun and the new advances in shielding technology.

At least she was defrosting towards Jacob. That was exactly why the Illusive Man had wanted him in on Lazarus, beyond his personaly loyalty to Miranda. He was a L3 biotic, a former Raider and as much of a gun nut as Shepard was. He looked up to Shepard, craved her respect.

"The entry to the quarantine is walking distance," Miranda said crisply.

Shepard shook her head, not looking up. "I want to pick up 'Archangel' first."

Jacob glanced at Shepard and then at Miranda, shifting uncomfortably. Massani leant against a grimy wall, adjusting his Mattock on its sling and looking utterly uninterested. The mercenary didn't care where they went, just that he got paid for going there.

Miranda frowned. This operation would be very short lived if Shepard attempted to fight her on everything simply because it came from her. "Solus is mission-vital."

Shepard nodded. "I know - but Archangel is currently under attack. No combatant can survive long with those kind of odds. If we wait, I'm concerned he'll be dead by the time we get there."

"Solus is hardly in a safe area," Miranda pointed out, "if he dies before we reach him the mission will be jeopardized."

"I understand your concerns," Shepard said and Miranda was surprised to find that she believed it, "but I think the risk is worth taking. Solus can clearly look after himself if he's survived this long in an Omegan quarantine zone."

She met Shepard's gaze. She wasn't lying - she _had_ listened and she _did_ believe her own logic, but there was something of a warning in her eyes. She was pushing Miranda, seeing what would happen, seeing if the whole 'you're in command' thing stood up when they disagreed.

Chambers had been right with her warning that Shepard was someone who needed to feel some control and that she'd be testing both herself and Taylor.

"If that's what you think is best, Commander," she said stiffly.

Shepard relaxed imperceptibly. "We should hurry. Massani, done some infil missions in your time?"

He grunted, "Of course I 'ave. And Blue Suns? That'll be a goddamn pleasure."

They were halfway to where the Blue Suns representative had said to meet him when Shepard froze, head swinging to stare at a handful of nearby batarians who'd hissed something. Miranda stopped as well, hand dropping and ready to draw.

"Have something to say?" Shepard asked, lip curling.

"What're you looking at, monkey?" the batarian sneered, tilting his head to the right and drawing a thumb across his throat.

Shepard exploded forward, one hand seizing him by the throat and propelling him back into the wall. His friends reached for their weapons, only to find themselves staring down the barrels of Jacob and Miranda's pistols. Zaeed just hefted his Mattock, smiling.

"A man whose day I'm about to ruin." Ripples of blue light danced along Shepard's arm. Red gleamed from her pupils.

He cringed, and for a moment Miranda thought she was going to strike, but then Shepard stepped back and shoved him away.

"Get outta here."

"Bit of posturin, huh? They teach that in Alliance OCS now?" Massani sounded amused more than anything. A mix of still seething anger and consternation flashed across her face before Shepard shook herself back into composure.

"We should get moving. Helmets on."

Miranda pulled her helmet over her head, the joins hissing as they sealed together. Shepard had always had a temper according to the files she'd read, but since they'd arrived on Omega she'd shown a worrying lack of control.

Damnit.

* * *

_Idiot._

Sergeant Cathka had let himself get isolated from the rest of the Blue Suns. There wasn't a rifleman in sight, and now even the freelancers were leaving. Shepard's hand fell to the combat knife she'd requisitioned from the ship's armoury as she approached the mechanic on silent feet.

The knife slid into the joins of Sergeant Cathka's armour and stabbed down into his neck. He jerked, scrabbling at Shepard's arm as blood and air spurted from the wound and he choked wetly on it, before he slumped back into her. If he wasn't dead yet, he would be very shortly.

She wrapped an arm around Cathka's torso, trusting that Massani and Taylor were watching out for his buddies, and dragged him towards the edge of the platform the gunship rested on. She glanced over the edge and only darkness stared back. No Blue Suns in sight. Satisfied, Shepard heaved the body over the edge.

"Damn," said Jacob simply as she turned back to them.

She shrugged it off as she turned to regard the gunship. "The more trouble we cause now, the less we have to deal with later."

They weren't carrying the sort of explosives she'd like to deal with this sort of problem and an explosion right now would give them away. Given half an hour she could probably yank on enough wires to make the Mantis inoperable, but they didn't have that much time. The still damaged shield emitters and armour plates would have to be enough.

Regretfully, Shepard turned away. "Let's go."

Miranda caught up to them once they'd reached the step off barricade. The bridge was littered with bodies and even as she watched a freelancer toppled, a sniper round cracking his skull open. Shepard was impressed - one sniper holding this area for this long against at least a company of mercenaries? That was the sort of man she could use. If he didn't shoot them first.

"Well?" she asked the Cerberus operative quietly.

Miranda smiled, self-satisfied. "I gained access to the YMIR mech. It should take care of itself."

"Well done." Lawson was very competent, she'd give her that.

Another bullet snapped through the air, caving in a man's chest. His feet kicked at air as he died.

"Now for the fun part," Shepard murmured. For a moment she let herself indulge in feeling like herself for the first time since she'd woken up - just another infiltration mission. But Lawson, Taylor and Massani were not N7s or her _Normandy_ ground team, and she was dancing to the wrong tune.

"What?" Miranda raised one perfect black eyebrow under her visor. She'd taken Shepard's decree that all those who accompanied her on the battlefield should wear proper hardsuits and helmets with more grace than Shepard had probably deserved, after she'd spent weeks needling the operative. She _had_ pointed out that she knew her own business and that she'd leveraged distraction in the past.

Shepard had shrugged. "In heavy combat they're not going to give a shit. At three hundred metres they might not even be able to tell. Everyone wears armour or they stay on the ship."

She'd leave the spy-terrorist bullshit to Miranda, but she wasn't backing down on that one.

Now she shot Lawson a tight smile as she pulled a smoke grenade out. Zaeed already had one in hand. "The part where we try to run a hundred metre gauntlet without getting our heads ventilated."

And then Shepard tossed the grenade over, followed shortly by Zaeed's. They clattered as they landed and then the smoke billowed out, forming heavy sheets across the bridge. It'd give them cover the make about half the way - and then hopefully would conceal them from the Eclipse machinegunner as they killed the mercs ahead of them.

She vaulted over the barricade and began to run.

* * *

Consciousness returned to Garrus Vakarian slowly, seeping through the numbness encasing him. Cool, white light. The scent of antiseptic. He winced, hissing out a breath that felt and sounded hoarse.

"Ah. Back amongst the living then, Mr Vakarian."

His eyes shot out at the familiar, crisp voice. Doctor Karin Chakwas hovered above him, face framed in grey-white hair. "...Chakwas?"

He reached for his throat, but she gently took his wrist. "You gave us quite the scare, Garrus. I thought Lawson was going to have to pry Shepard off that chair over there with a crowbar."

Right, because Shepard was alive.

It didn't make any sense at all, but Garrus wasn't inclined to question. Not yet, at least. A day ago ago he'd thought he was going to die, his head hacked off and mounted on Garm's personal shuttle, as the Blood Pack officer was fond of threatening. Then there'd been that small group of freelancers, clearly more competent than the others, and then he'd seen the N7 emblazoned on a dark chestplate.

Freelancers claiming they were former N7s and decorating themselves with things they hadn't earnt were a dime a dozen in the Terminus, but there'd been something in the way she'd moved that'd had his finger hesitating on the trigger.

Then she tossed a grenade into the midst of half a dozen mercs unwisely grouped up together, and he'd known. That'd been Shepard's favourite teaching moment in the simulators. Too many people grouped up and she'd toss a virtual grenade at them to blow their virtual asses to virtual dust.

Shepard was _alive_. It almost eased the steel-hard knot of grief and rage in his chest. He was in some way glad that it didn't - he wasn't sure what would happen when it cracked open.

He wasn't sure he wanted to know. A human family he'd helped had called him _Archangel._ He remembered what Ashley Williams had said about her God - the forgiveness and the kindness, but also the wrath.

_Cast forth lightning, and scatter them: shoot out thine arrows, and destroy them._

"What's the damage?" he asked, his voice still strained.

"You were very lucky. The gunship appears to have anti-tank rockets loaded instead of anti-personnel, and Shepard managed to shove you somewhat out of the way with her biotics." She settled on the chair beside him. "You have a burst ear drum, a concussion, lacerations and burns to your neck, face and upper chest, and assorted carapace cracks from the blunt force trauma of your armour stopping those rounds. One of the lacerations partially severed your trachea, but Miranda and Shepard were able to maintain your airway."

His mandibles flicked in dismay - and then he hissed as his face lit up with pain.

"Yes. I had to reattach your mandible."

"You call all this _lucky?"_ he asked, gingerly shifting in the bed.

"Considering you caught an anti-tank rocket with your face, yes." Chakwas raised one elegant grey eyebrow.

"...point taken."

The door to the medbay hissed open. "Ah, Doctor Chakwas. Very good to meet you. Doctor Mordin Solus." A hurricane of a salarian bustled over to Chakwas, extending a wiry hand.

Chakwas shook his hand, bemused.

"Came to offer services for any future medical emergencies. Full faith in your qualifications - very experienced trauma surgeon - but extra set of hands always helpful. Can send you list of qualifications if required." Solus was an old salarian, one that had clearly lived a hard life, his face pitted by scars and one horn was a blunt nub.

"That won't be necessary - I would greatly appreciate the help. Medidrones just aren't the same."

"No, no, tool not crutch!" He breathed in audibly, eyes darting to Garrus. "Good to see you awake, Vakarian. Looking forward to working with you - should be interesting mission. Cerberus recruiting aliens - clear sign of desperation or attempt to replicate SR1's successes."

Garrus sucked in a breath. "Cerberus?"

Chakwas went still beside him.

"Ah," Solus blinked, "Apologies. Unaware you weren't informed of mission's backer."

"It's all right," she said, "Sometimes it's best to rip the bandaid off."

"Will be in lab if needed."

And as quickly as he'd arrived, Mordin Solus was gone.

"Cerberus?" Garrus repeated, "Shepard would never work for Cerberus." _Not willingly._ Had they done something to her? If they had...

Well, he'd need to get his claws back on his rifle for starters.

"That is something you will need to discuss with Shepard. I serve her, not Cerberus." There was a calm finality in Chakwas' voice.

Garrus breathed out unsteadily. This week just got stranger and stranger.

* * *

**Codex Entry**

Turian Hierarchy Government: The turian government differs greatly from a typical human government. There is little distinction between the military and non military state apparatus and most civil servants belong to a service branch as soldiers and sailors do, such as the Communications Service which oversees the extranet and comms infrastructure of the Hierarchy. It is a curious and seemingly contradictory observation to many of other species that the Hierarchy is both very centralised and decentralised at once; almost all aspects of turian society are government run, but in general the higher echelons tend to be 'hands off' and allow their subordinates leeway in their duties.

The overall legislative and executive body of the turian Hierarchy is the Primarch Assembly, consisting of the Primarchs of each colonisation cluster and the Primarch of Palaven. Contrary to some misconceptions, the Primarch of Palaven is neither an absolute ruler or a president-like figure - he or she is more of a 'first amongst equals' and moderator. The Assembly votes on matters that effect the Hierarchy as a whole, while as a general rule allowing more local matters to be dealt by those further down the chain. In times of emergency, the Primarch of Palaven may be invested with additional executive powers to streamline decision making.

Advising the Primarch Assembly as well as discussing and implementing the Asesembly's directives is the General Staff. These are senior members of each branch, who are rotated every three years back into operational command. The idea of these rotations is to prevent the Gneral Staff from becoming isolated from the rest of the Hierarchy and to ensure new ideas are brought through. Amongst the General Staff are the First Judge, the senior judge of the supreme court who interprets Hierarchy law, and the Advocate General, who gives the General Staff and Primarch Assembly legal advice - including on galactic law.

On a day to day basis the clusters and colonies are run by their colonial adminsitrations which oversee everything from hospitals to infrastructure. The military forces in these areas are overseen by the Colonial Commander. Both the administration and the commander report to their Primarch.

The Hierarchy services - the Hierarchy Navy, Hierarchy Army, Administration Corps, Intelligence Service, Communications Service, Engineer Corps, Supply Corps and Medical Corps - are responsible for training, equipping and organising their personnel according to the directives of the General Staff. The Hierarchy Army legions are generally recruited from the same areas, history is meticulously recorded and most soldiers will serve their careers with the same legion. This leads to a high unit cohesion, pride and esprit de corps. However, if a legion is wiped out or sufficiently damaged, it is possible for whole towns or regions to lose a large portion of their young men and women.

In addition to the services and colonial military headquarters there are four Functional Combatant Commands which oversee components of each military service across the Hierarchy. These include: the Special Purpose Command, which coordinates special operations troops including the Cabals and Blackwatch, Transportation Command, which is responsible for transporting all Hierarchy military assets, the Galactic Strategic Command, which is responsible for monitoring all strategic threats across the galaxy and giving advice on how to response (for example - the Systems Alliance or the geth), and Home Front Command, responsible for ensuring the defence of the Hierarchy as a whole and responding to existential emergencies.


	5. Outside Sources

"Hope you remember how to use one of these," Shepard greeted Garrus as soon as the door to her cabin slid open, and tossed a scanner at him.

The cabin was dark, even the holo clock beside her bed and her terminal switched off, and quiet except for the low, unfamiliar hum of the SR2's machinery around them and the bubbling of water . A whole wall (and very empty) fish tank on a warship? Everywhere he looked he saw colossal wastes of money. The _Normandy_ \- the real one - had been a small, cramped ship, but she'd been the epitome of efficiency. The Alliance and Hierarchy engineers would never have put in a fish tank.

So far this new, shinier _Normandy_ felt like some sort of mirror image. Not quite right, enough to put an itch under his plates.

He brought up his omnitool's flashlight. "I'll take this side of the room."

They worked in silence. He found a camera pointed at the bed and another at the deck, and a microphone beneath Shepard's desk. He pulled the tiny bugs out of their hiding places carefully and crushed them under his heel, with a satisfying crunch of electronics and metal.

A clang ran through the cabin as Shepard pried a section off the cabin wall, exposing a thick bundle of wiring and cables sandwiched between the wall and the airtight bulkhead of the pressure hull.

"Commander," the AI's voice was smooth and without inflection as it filled the dim cabin, "Cerberus regulations prohibit interference with internal systems except by authorised personnel, for the safety of the crew and the ship."

Shepard's face hardened into a scowl as she seized the cables in one hand and flicked open a pocket knife with the other. "They can fire me then."

She pulled out the wire she was looking for and severed it with a twist of her wrist. The AI said nothing.

The surveillance was both worrying and somewhat over the top. He'd seen less hardware when CSec was trying to nail a crime lord, and Shepard and Cerberus were apparently allies. It said a lot about how little they trusted her - the tight ball of anxiety in his gut twisted.

There was one more signature coming from Shepard's desk - a face down frame. He turned it over with careful talons - and paused, blinking.

A holo flickered open, lighting up in the darkness. Shepard had her arm around Williams' shoulder and they were leaning into each other, a smirk on William's mouth and something soft in the way Shepard's eyes lingered on the other woman's face.

_Ah._

He slid the point of his utility knife under the frame and popped it off. The bug was hidden amongst the device's circuitry - he carefully pried it free with the tips of his talons.

"They just couldn't help themselves, huh?" Shepard's voice dripped with disgust. "I knew I should've tossed that goddamn frame into the garbage compactor."

But she hadn't, because Cerberus had dangled one little piece of what she'd lost in front of her.

He crushed that bug too.

"Think we got them all," he told her. In the dark, her pupils glowed an unsettling red even as her shoulders slumped in relief.

Shepard had always held a little bit of herself back from them on the SR1 - except, perhaps, from Ashley Williams - even as she managed to pry her crew's own walls apart, figure out the gears and cogs beneath. But there as something brittle about the way she held herself now.

He'd never imagined this could happen. The two of them standing together again. New and different scars. Different.

Shepard turned the light back on and sank onto the couch, rubbing at her face and wincing. "Can you do one more scan? Of me?"

He flared his mandibles - and then grit his teeth at the burst of pain following the movement. "You?"

"They had two years with my body, Garrus - who knows what they could've done? My eyes at least are artifical," she shifted uncomfortable, "I need to know they didn't shove any bugs into me."

He'd be pretty damned paranoid in her position too. He started the scan. He didn't know human physiology that well, just what he'd learnt in Ling's crash course in human first aid aboard the SR1, so what popped up was alie even without the extensive cybernetics. One arm and both legs had clearly been reconstructed with cybernetics and cloned tissues, there were a few metal bits clinging to her spine and one device was attached to her heart. That was probably important.

"You've got a lot of cybernetics, but nothing seems to be transmitting right now."

"Could they?"

He hesitated. He wasn't a medical or cybernetics specialist. "Possible - the one in your forearm seems most likely - see here?" Shepard flinched when she looked at the scans, but she looked. "I doubt there's too much beyond maybe a tracker. Everything else requires a larger power source and storage - and that's dangerous when put into the body itself. Easier to just use bugs."

"Thanks for the help, Garrus."

He sat across from her, flicking a mandible, "What're friends for?" Then he sobered. "Cerberus, Shepard?"

It wasn't an accusation, but he did need to know. It didn't fit with his image of his mentor and friend. She'd gotten angry about Saren, but Cerberus had drawn out a rage he hadn't otherwise seen in her. She rubbed at her scars again.

"I woke up three weeks ago. They told me I'd been out for two years, that my ship was gone, that colonies are disappearing and that's why they sank _billions_ into me." She shook her head. "I don't like any of this,Garrus, but they've got me over a barrel right now. I thought about running on Omega, but they've got their hands on Chakwas and Joker, I have no money and then you were hurt. I'm waiting for the right moment."

"What about the colonies?" he asked quietly.

She rocked back on her heel, blinking at him. "I can help them through the Alliance and the Council, not terrorists."

"Do you really believe that?" The Alliance might care about what was happening, but the odds of them letting a newly resurrected Spectre strike out into the Terminus with Alliance resources after a nebuelous threat seemed…low. And the COuncil hadn't wanted to let her take the _Normandy_ after Saren in the middle of a war and in thefaceof an invasion.

That was before Shepard had died. After…

Shepard's expression darkened. "Don't let the altruistic mission or the shiny coat of paint fool you, Garrus. They're the same old Cerberus. The Illusive Man is a monster."

"All right. I'm here for you, Shepard, not them. You decide who needs a bullet in their head and I'll have them in my scope." After all, Shepard hadn't failed like he had. Shepard knew what she was doing. He blinked and saw turian blood mixing with human under the red glare of Omega's false light. "Besides, you will need someone who can _actually_ hit something other than the side of a building."

"Hey! I'll have you know there's no one faster than me in CQB. Not all of us take fifteen minutes to take a shot."

He chuckled. "Sure, but the only reason you hit anything is because you use a shotgun."

"You're full of shit, Vakarian," her voice was warm, "but I'm damned glad you're here."

He flicked his mandibles. "I'll be ready when you need me."

Shepard raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. "You'll be ready when Chakwas says you are."

"Come on. I find some nice, comfy snipers nest while you-"

"Do all the work?"

"Act as bait."

She slugged him in the shoulder. Chuckling, they settled back into the couches.

"So." Shepard's eyes cut to him, laughter fading into something more penetrating. "Omega isn't where I'd thought I might find you."

Two years ago felt like a lot longer to him - drowned out by the violent eighteen months on Omega, his fellow Spectre trainees' faces faded in favour of Monteague and Weaver (he'd smiled at him, even with three bullets in his shattered chest). Drowned out by the rising wave of frustration, anger at a galaxy that just didn't seem to give a damn that they were about to go right off a cliff. He'd just wanted to do one thing that _meant_ something, that could make a lasting difference.

But for Shepard it'd been only months since that last meeting on the Citadel, and he could see her studying him, trying to fit that man she'd left there, determined to do the Right Thing the right way, and the scarred one she saw before her. The former vigilante - the _failed_ vigilante. He'd known the first time he'd shot a gang leader on Omega that Shepard wouldn't have approved.

He hadn't thought he'd ever have to talk to her about it though.

"I had a team," he began. Stopped. Tried again. "It ended…you saw."

Shepard's expression gentled. She had seen the body bags, but she hadn't asked him about it. "I know you probably don't want to talk about it right now, Garrus, but I've been where you are right now. If you need to talk, my door's always open."

* * *

Zaeed Massani had thought he was going to like working with Shepard the moment she jammed a knife into that batarian's neck. He'd known for sure when she'd given the turian a tight, vicious little smile and told Zaeed to watch her back while she set up a few 'Illyria Specials' to greet the mercs. The Alliance had cleaned her up for the HV, but there was a killer under that galactic hero gloss - couldn't have all the families back home knowing Commander Goddamn Shepard could rig up fuel cells as IEDs.

The other two might be a pain in the ass though. Taylor practically dripped idealism everywhere he went and might get all touchy when the chips were done - Zaeed had seen his type before. No stomach for the blood and dirt. Lawson on the other hand would care about results and nothing else.

Zaeed could respect that. So long as Cerberus kept putting those credits in his account, he was good to go.

Korlus was a damned shit hole of a planet. Stank like rot, and looked like it too, covered in the corpses of a hundred ships as it was. Even before you added goddamn crazy krogan and an even crazier Blue Suns officer.

The cloning facility was a pretty crappy place to fight - they were taking fire from both their front and flank, but Zaeed was grinning even as a rocket punched into the wall in front of him, spraying out hot, jagged pieces of shrapnel. Most of them pinged off his shields but one gouged a scar across his chestplate.

They'd killed a whole lot of Blue Suns and that was what Zaeed Massani called a goddamn good day.

"Back up!" Shepard ordered, her assault rifle roaring as she followed her own advice, "Use the door to funnel them!"

Zaeed fell back until he was shoulder to shoulder with Taylor. A krogan charged towards them, heedless of the fire being rained on him. He had only a few scraps of armour bolted on, blue blue eyes and a crest that hadn't hardened yet.

Zaeed shot him in the knee, blowing the joint out and then the stomach. He roared and clawed his way back to his feet, bleeding from a dozen wounds. The room seemed to shake with each of his staggering steps.

Goddamn krogan. Zaeed pulled the trigger on his Mattock again, tearing the bastard's scaly cheek open.

Then Solus, that twitchy little salarian, stepped forward and raised a hand, surrounded by the orange-yellow glow of his omnitool. The microfabricators spat out a globule of plasma that splattered across the krogan head and chest, filling the air with the stench of burning flesh. The young krogan howled as he fell to his knees.

Solus raised his Carnifex and shot the krogan in the head, cutting his roars off.

Stone cold bastard. Zaeed was impressed despite himself.

"Incendiaries best way to kill krogan. Inhibits regenerative abilities," Solus said calmly, "No need for unnecessary suffering, however."

"Got anything for that YMIR?" Shepard asked mildly.

"Suggest Massani's rocket launcher."

"Alright. We'll push up - Taylor and I will give you cover, Massani. Then you hit it with your rocket launcher."

"Roger that," Zaeed grunted, patting the squat ML-77 launcher on his back.

They darted back into the cloning room, stepping over the smouldering krogan corpse. The YMIR mech spotted them and the ground around Zaeed erupted with the impacts of HMG rounds, metal sparking all around him.

Shepard began to glow violently blue and she swung a hand in an angry mnemonic. A large metal crate sailed through the air and smashed into the YMIR just as it fired its launcher - the rocket impacted against the ceiling in a shriek of twisting metal.

"Now Zaeed!" she shouted.

The ML-77 unfolded in his hands and he raised it to his shoulder, locked on, fired - blew a hole right through the mech's 'chest'. It tottered for a moment, sparking, and then violently exploded.

"I really fuckin' need to talk to someone in Hahne-Kedar," Shepard gritted out, pulling out a bit of shrapnel that'd lodged in her shoulder plate, "Where's Jedore? I want her in the ground five minutes ago."

Zaeed folded his rocket launcher back onto his back before looking through the scope of his Mattock. Across the room, Jedore peeked around the corner, holding another ML-77. She was just more evidence of what pits Vido had thrown the Suns into - an incompetent idiot who liked the sound of her voice better than doing her goddamn job.

The reticle hovered over her faceplate and he squeezed the trigger. She went down, skull ventilated and Massani smiled an ugly smile behind his visor.

Job well fucking done.

"One crazy asshole down, Shepard."

* * *

"Shepard," Mordin called as they exited the shuttle. The bay smelt of smoke and metal. He waited until the human turned to look at him. "Style of command appreciated. No micromanagement. Very efficient." Some humans, turians, asari - liked to have control over every aspect of unit deployment. Inefficient, cloying. Most irritating part of joint operations.

Shepard smiled thinly. "You know what they say - us operators have more in common than we don't."

Ah. Hadn't told Shepard of STG background but had worked it out. Very good. Not salarian but not unintelligent either. "Yes - similar philosophies regardless of species."

Special operations of all types needed intelligence, daring, sly mind. Even Blackwatch.

"And I've worked with STG before - on Virmire. I trust you to do your thing."

"Virmire, yes. Krogan cloning facility, nuclear missile turned into bomb. Got the job done despite limited resources."

A shadow crossed Shepard's face. "Yeah."

Heavy casualties on Virmire - more so for STG than Alliance Marines. Two humans awarded Silver Dagger for the first time, only one of who lived. Humans known as warlike species but vulnerable to post traumatic stress, psychological changes. Survivor's guilt.

Salarian mind processed emotions more efficiently than human. Jaesenn Company remembered, honoured, but two years ago. Grieved, yes, but dealt with. Humans had too much time to think.

"Must look at data recovered from Warlord Okeer's lab. Will look after own armour and weapons."

"Of course, Professor. Do what you gotta do. C'mon Massani, Taylor."

Mordin Solus went in search of his lab, thoughts of Virmire and old wounds dismissed. Cerberus had provided top of the line equipment that still had that new smell. Not everything, but could be requisitioned. Yes, Cerberus was desperate or attempting to recreate Shepard's previous successes. Seemed unlikely - Shepard didn't trust Cerberus, resented them. Would likely attempt to leave if the opportunity to rejoin the Alliance presented itself. Outcome of mission without Shepard unknown.

"Collector interest in genetic modification confirmed. For what end?" he bustled over to his desk, plugging in the OSD he'd taken from Okeer's lab into his laptop, "Scientific discovery, however unethical? No, no, would only need hundreds for experiments - expenditure and risk involved in large abductions require greater purpose. Why humans?"

Humans were interesting species - adaptable, violent, had fascinating reactions to leaving homeworld, experiencing space for first time - but not as established, disciplined or economically relevant as other Council species.

"If Collectors working with Reapers, reaction to Battle of Citadel? Looking for weaknesses, developing targeted bioweapons? But plague targeted all _other_ species."

The files popped up, his hands darting to and fro, flicking through them. Experiment after experiment, young krogan discarded time and time again.

So much waste.

* * *

The _Achilles_ was a small, cramped ship, especially when an entire Marine Special Operations Team was stuffed into her along with her crew. The upside is that she regularly returned to port, let them all stretch their legs, unlike the N - unlike the frigates who spents months in the deep dark until everyone was ready to strangle each other. Ashley was still pretty sure there was something wrong with corvette sailors.

But hey, they were in the Navy.

Ash shut the door to the _Achilles_ ' tiny comms room behind her and touched the gently pulsing light. They'd dropped Cas'nanak off with the AIA and had been looking forward to a little R&R on Arcturus Station when the orders had come in, diverting the ship and directing Williams to call her boss.

_"Anderson here."_ The orange holo of the Commmodore spilled burnt light across the tiny room, building his stern face in a grid.

"Hunter Actual reporting. I'm guessing this is to do with our detour, sir."

He wasn't one for social calls, even if she knew him a lot better than she had when he'd first told her that there was a spot aboard his ship for her, if she wanted it.

He nodded. _"The_ Achilles _will escort the freighter_ Rosemary _to the independent colony of Horizon. Said freighter is carrying the components for a planetary defence battery and the personnel to do the initial set up. Once that's done, your team will be staying to finalise the installation and train the local militia in their operation."  
_

She blinked. "Sir, that sounds like a job for the Army." The Army contained the units responsible for planetary defence artillery, not the Marines. "We're not trained."

_"Then I hope you study the manuals I'll be sending you in great detail."  
_

"What's so important about Horizon, sir?" Anderson had never sent her on a mission that didn't fit her skillset before. He'd only used them for special reconnaissance and direct action.

_"What do you know about the colony disappearances, Williams?"_

"Not a great deal, Commodore, just what I've read in the bulletins," she admitted. The reports worried her - colony attacks always made her skin crawl, reminded her of the drills she had to do as a child on Sirona, made her go over ancient plans in her head of where she'd hide her sisters, how to get the old Mattock out of the safe - but she'd been busy chasing leads for Hackett's taskforce. She didn't know how much of a difference she was making, but Ash couldn't do _nothing,_ not with the horrific knowledge hanging over their heads.

Sometimes, Shepard had talked in her sleep. Feverishly murmured words in a language her translator couldn't comprehend. The same words the crumbling Prothean ruins on Ilos had screamed at them.

No escape.

_"A colony called Freedom's Progress went dark a couple of weeks ago. We're up to six colonies that've disappeared in the last twelve months,"_ Anderson's mouth pinched at the corners, _"We need to get a handle on this, Williams. We need concrete intel, not just whispers. So we're deploying SASOC teams to those colonies that will allow Alliance troops anywhere near them."_

"Six? Jesus," she shook her head, "I understand, sir. I won't let you down."

_"This may be even more dangerous than the other teams' assignments. We have a source alleging that Horizon will be the next target. Remember that this is first and foremost a recon mission. If the enemy force_ does _arrive and is likely to overwhelm you, withdraw from contact, stay hidden and observe."  
_

"And just let them take the colonists? Like hell!" Her jaw clenched.

Anderson looked half-resigned, half-annoyed at her flash of temper. _"I'm not asking, Lieutenant. I don't like it any better than you do, but getting yourself killed isn't going to help put a stop to these attacks."  
_

She breathed out heavily. "Understood, sir. Do we have any hints at all of who might be responsible?"

_"There's a possibility that Cerberus might be involved."_

Cerberus. Like a bad smell that just wouldn't go away. She could never forgive what they'd done to the Marines they'd murdered. They'd nearly killed her on Arcturus Station.

But...

"Whole colonies? Sir, that doesn't seem to fit their MO."

_"I agree - but at this point we can't afford to discount any possibilities."_ He paused, something like hesitation crossing his face. _"There's one more thing, Lieutenant."  
_

"Yessir?"

_"There are some...rumours in the Terminus. That Emilia Shepard is alive."  
_

Ashley felt as if someone had hit her with a baseball bat, all the breath driven from her lungs, leaving her gasping soundlessly for air. She'd tried so _fucking_ hard to get her feet back under her, to start living life again instead of just surviving.

With a few words it felt like the old wound was about to be torn right back open.

"It's not true. It can't be true. People can't come back from the dead and if she was alive she would've contacted the Alliance. She would've contacted me." The words poured out of her.

_"Ashley."_ Anderson's frighteningly gentle voice cut her off, _"it's just a rumour. I didn't want you to be caught by surprise."_

"I...thank you, sir."

_"I've got Joseph Coyle on finding out the source of these rumours, but we need to keep it quiet."_

"Of course, sir," she replied mechanically. Part of her wanted to believe it, the part of her that still hadn't healed, no matter how often she told herself that Emilia Shepard was dead. No one could outdo death.

_"Rendezvous with the_ Rosemary _and get it done, Lieutenant,"_ there was sympathy in Anderson's eyes.

"Aye aye sir." The holo cut out and First Lieutenant Ashley Williams was left alone in the dark comms room.

* * *

Shepard, Massani and Jacob piled out of the elevator in a cacophony of clacking ceramic. The CIC flooded with the stench of battle - sweat, ozone, ash and blood. There was a small, sharp smile on Shepard's face.

"Commander," Miranda called, voice and posture stiff.

Shepard, who a moment ago had been familiarly elbowing Jacob like they were all teenagers coming home from a party, went still. It was like a shutter coming down behind her eyes. "Yes?"

"We need to talk."

Shepard nodded to the men with her and the two of them trooped into the armoury, tugging off bits of armour and webbing as they went. Jacob shot Miranda a guilty look as he went. She ignored it.

Shepard raised an eyebrow, "What's up?"

"The krogan-"

Shepard lifted a hand, cutting her off. Miranda's jaw clenched. Shepard carried a confidence, an authority with ease, like a second skin. She was used to getting what she wanted, used to winding people around her finger. This was the Lion of Elysium, the woman the Illusive Man had decided humanity needed - enough to snatch her back from the jaws of death. _Stubborn, arrogant-  
_

Miranda had brought back possibly the most infuriating woman in the galaxy.

"In your office, Operative Lawson."

The door slid shut behind them and Miranda whirled on them. First Shepard had calmly insisted she remain on the _Normandy_ during the mission to Korlus, and then she'd come back without Okeer or his Collector intel. _And_ she'd decided to bring dangerous 'salvage' aboard without discussion.

"I didn't leave you on the ship because of any issues between us, Lawson," Shepard preempted her.

"I find that difficult to believe, Commander," she said coolly, sitting behind her desk and crossing her legs at the ankle. Shepard had done everything in her power to make Miranda's life difficult since she'd woken up.

Shepard lowered herself into one of the chairs, lounging more than sitting. While her impulsive behaviour on Omega was concerning, it was clear she was regaining some confidence. It reminded Miranda of the Illusive Man in some ways - but Shepard didn't have his vision. He saw the big picture, and for all her gifts Shepard was still ruled by her own hatreds. Otherwise she would have helped Cerberus two years ago, not started a crusade that threatened to weaken humanity's shield when they needed it most.

"I'm the CO, you're the XO. If we're both off the ship, who's in command of the _Normandy?"_ Shepard raised an eyebrow.

"This isn't the Navy, Commander." Despite Shepard's insistence on being called by her Alliance rank rather than her name or captain.

"Trust me, I know that," Shepard said darkly. Her eyes darted to the stars whirling past Miranda's window, and then with a not quite repressed shudder, she tore them away, "Send me a crew manifest and a proposed chain of command. I'll look it over, and we'll see about getting you back into the field."

She didn't like needing Shepard's approval for going on ground missions, but the Illusive Man had given her roders. They needed Shepard on their side, and their best chance at that was loosening the leash just enough that she felt she was the one in charge.

So Miranda nodded. "Very well, Commander. There's another matter."

"The krogan. Everyone is just _loving_ the paperweight."

"He's dangerous."

"A krogan supersoldier? I should hope so."

Miranda frowned at her. It wasn't a joke. "He could be a threat to the ship and crew."

There was something almost measuring in the way Shepard looked at her. "What would be your suggestion then?"

"Send him to Cerberus," she said immediately, "we have labs that can study him - and the Collector tech Okeer used to create him."

"No." Shepard's eyes flashed, red gleaming from the pupils. "I'm not handing anyone over to Cerberus 'scientists'."

Ah. Shepard's issues over the Akuze Incident were bound to come up. The Illusive Man had sent her the files on Project Hellion and Project Ophion in anticipation of Shepard's awakening. Hellion's cell leader had well and truly overstepped her mark when she'd decided to experiment on Alliance troops. Most of the conclusions could have been determined by controlled tests on cloned tissues and samples of personal and vehicle armour.

"What happened-"

"No," a muscle in Shepard's jaw jumped, "we're not talking about that, Lawson."

"Very well," she said crisply. It was always two steps forward, one step back with Shepard. Bringing her to see what she needed to do for the good of humanity was going to be a low and slow process.

"One more thing," Shepard leant back in her chair, arms crossed, "it's your right as XO to disagree with me-" Miranda couldn't help blinking in surprise, not expecting _that_ "-but if we are going to have an argument, we need to keep it behind closed doors. If the crew see us fighting, they'll take sides or worse, try to play us against each other."

Shepard's face reflected only sincerity and hard worn experience.

"All right."

"Thank you." Shepard rose to her feet. "I look forward to reading over the manifest."

* * *

 

**Codex Entry**

Crew of the independent warship _Normandy:_

To: Emilia Shepard, Lazarus Cell  
From: Operative Miranda Lawson, Lazarus Cell  
Subject: Crew Manifest

Commander,

As per your recent request, please find attached the full crew manifest of the _Normandy,_ excepting the ground team.

Regards,

Operative Miranda Lawson

—

ATTACHMENT

—

Commanding Officer (CO): Emilia Shepard

  _Administration Department:_  
Executive Officer (XO): Miranda Lawson  
Administrative Assistant: Kelly Chambers

_Operations Department:_  
Chief Helmsman/Second Officer: Jeff Moreau  
Second Helmsman/Shuttle Pilot: Sarah Patel  
CIC Supervisor: Thomas Hawthorne  
Sensors/IT Specialist: Richard Hadley  
Sensors/IT Specialist: Zach Matthews  
Sensors/IT Specialist: Arun Agoume  
Sensors/IT Specialist: Fang Hsu  
Communications Specialist: Austen Elwood  
Communications Specialist: Adriaan Rosing  
Navigation Specialist: Altair Ioannou  
AI Systems Specialist: Kalinda Bhandari

_Combat Systems Department:_  
Gunnery Officer: Garrus Vakarian  
Gunner:Samarjit Ganguly  
Gunner: Roberto D'Alo  
Gunner: Chahana Sarraf

_Supply Department:_  
Logistics Supervisor: Liang Guo  
Cook/Maintenance: Rupert Gardener  
Payload Specialist: Nayyir Mussa  
Payload Specialist: Halley Bolitho  
Payload Specialist: Dongsun Na  
Payload Specialist: Neeraj Anand  
Shuttle Mechanic: Vadim Rolston

 

_Heath Department:_  
Chief Medical Officer: Doctor Karin Chakwas

 

_Engineering Department:_  
Propulsion Engineer: Gabriella Daniels  
Nuclear and Power Management Engineer: Ken Donnelly  
Kinetic Barriers Technician: Gianina Perno  
Life Support Technician: Naseema Malak  
Life Support Technician: Qi Gau  
Weapons Maintenance Technician: Chinhwa Jang  
Hull Maintenance Technician: Irena Rakova

—

To: Miranda Lawson, Lazarus Cell  
From: Emilia Shepard, Lazarus Cell  
Subject: re: Crew Manifest

Operative,

The crew appears rather pared back. Normal convention dictates we have at least three shifts worth of each position.

Shepard

—

To: Emilia Shepard, Lazarus Cell  
From: Miranda Lawson, Lazarus Cell  
Subject: re: re: Crew Manifest

Commander,

Your concerns are unwarranted. 'How it's done' in the Navy is not necessarily the most efficient method, and we have an artificial intelligence who does a great deal of the work a naval ship requires crew members to perform.

Regards,

Operative Lawson

—

To: Miranda Lawson, Lazarus Cell  
From: Emilia Shepard, Lazarus Cell  
Subject: re: re: re: Crew Manifest

Well, I for one am hoping our nuke never falls out the airlock.

 


	6. Cell Block

It'd taken about an hour for Jack to make it very _fucking_ clear to the crew of this tin can that her space was _hers_ and that they should stay away. It was dim, enclosed, connected to the guts of the ship, just what she liked. She'd put a stretcher in the corner, amongst the steel struts and sullen red lighting, and shoved a crate beneath it. That was where she kept her pistol and shotgun - fuck that shit about only storing weapons in the armoury. 'Operative Taylor' could just come and try to take her guns.

Shepard had talked a good talk about not imprisoning her, about getting her that info she wanted - and yeah, it'd been damned funny to see how pissed off that Cerberus cheerleader was - but the one rule of life was that everyone would fuck you over if given the chance. Jack didn't intend to give Shepard or these Cerberus cronies the opportunity.

Boots clanged on the stairs, knuckles rapping against the metal railing. "Jack."

Shepard wore dark uniform pants, splattered with blobs of dark blue and black, and a plain white tshirt. Faintly glowing scars webbed out from under her sleeves and crisscrossed her biceps. She was another of Cerberus' Frankenstein monsters - but if Shepard thought that meant they were going to be buddies, she had another thing coming. Jack had met people like her before - uptight, _moral_ types who had all these ideals before the grit of the galaxy got to them. Then they were just like everyone else.

But when Shepard met her eyes, there was no fear there.

"Shepard."

Something that might have been irritation flickered across her face briefly. Shepard liked to insist that everyone but the doctor, the turian and the brittle ass pilot call her by her Alliance rank. It was a little thing, but it got under her skin and Jack liked knowing that sort of thing.

She nodded to the datapad sitting on her cot. "Thanks for the files."

"Find anything interesting?" Shepard leant against a spar of metal, arms crossed.

"Your friends at Cerberus are into some nasty shit."

"They're not my friends," Shepard said coolly.

Jack sneered. "You're on their payroll, commanding their ship."

"I read about what they did to you - or at least the reports where they tried to hide where they stepped over the line," Shepard's lips pressed together grimly.

"Then lose the friend act," Jack spat, "because you're still fucking working for them, aren't you?"

"Seven years ago they set thresher maws on me and my people," Shepard's eyes gleamed red in this lighting, "I listened to my _family_ die around me, one by one. There'll come a time when I'm leaving, Jack, and I intend to leave them burning behind me. You can be a part of that."

Jack went quiet. "Not worried about Cerberus cheerleader hearing you say that?"

"The best part about engineering? Drive core interferes with microphones."

"I'm not a tool for you to use, Shepard." She knew the type. Charismatic, manipulative, whatever the _fuck_ you wanted to call it. She'd fallen for it before - the promises of love and safety and all that crap. She wouldn't again.

Shepard raised a hand. "Just wanted to give you the heads up."

She turned to go.

"Keep your people out of here," Jack called, "and no one gets splattered against walls."

"I'll tell them to give you space. But," Shepard looked over her shoulder and there was something wild and familiar in Shepard's eyes when she smiled, razor-sharp, "You want to throw a punch, you call me. I'll at least enjoy the work out."

* * *

It took a few days to confirm her suspicions, but now Kelly Chambers was certain. Commander Shepard was very adeptly avoiding her despite the fact that they were both stuck on a rather small frigate and Kelly was her administrative assistant. Oh, she spoke to her in the CIC, asked probing questions, watching her with those cool eyes, but every time she attempted to do her real job Shepard was nowhere to be found. She'd read Shepard's profile several times in preparation for this mission. Shepard liked control and resented a 'tight rein' - it was why she'd struggled at times as an infantry officer and why she'd done so well under Admiral Steven Hackett's command. It was less a dislike of authority than it was a dislike of having her competency questioned.

But Kelly was worried - Shepard had shown several warning signs. Heightened aggression, lack of impulse control, insomnia. She wasn't talking to the crew like she had during her Alliance career, and in fact was isolating herself in her cabin or with Vakarian.

_You need to get closer to her._ The Illusive Man's orders were succinct, to the point. _She needs our help._

Kelly wanted to help. She truly did. She'd seen the aftermath of war, of violence, in the empty eyes of the Alliance soldiers that had come back from the Eden Prime War and in the screams of one patient, who couldn't forget seeing his best friend being put on a spike. There were so many dangers out there. Kelly didn't know how to fire a gun, and she didn't want to, but she could still help those who went out there to defend humanity from the monsters in dark places.

_If she won't talk to you, do what you can to push her towards confiding in Operative Taylor. I'll get you the armory recordings if needed._ Her omnitool pinged in the middle of the mess hall, and her stomach churned. She didn't like spying on Shepard and the others, but the Illusive Man _did_ need to knoiw how they were doing, that they were focused on the mission. Saving the colonies was going to be dangerous enough.

"Can someone run this up to Deck One?" Gardner called, balancing a plate full of scrambled eggs and what she hoped was spam, "Capt'n needs her sustenance."

"I can take it!" she chirped, smiling sunnily at the mess sergeant. She liked Gardner. He was a course older man, occasionally grumpy, but he was neither complicated nor shallow. He'd spent his life working the eezo rigs in the Traverse, supporting his family on one of the dusty outer colonies. Until the batarian raiders came while he was away. Gardner's story was one of the reasons Cerberus needed to exist: the Alliance ship that'd chased the pirate ship carrying the humans captured during the raid had turned back once they'd hit the border.

Gardner wasn't a fighting man - in fact he was rather gentle, for all his rough exterior - but like Kelly, he'd found his way to help.

"Thanks, Kelly," he said gruffly, handing her the plate. "These too." He handed her a container of rattling pills. "Doc and Lawson said she has to take these too. _Vitamins."_ He looked put out, like it was an indictment of his cooking and its nutritional value.

She smiled at him. "Biotics need iodine supplementation for proper health. Plus lots of protein, but it looks like you've got that down just fine."

"Huh," he looked mollified.

Kelly made her way over to the elevator, dodging Engineers Donnelly and Daniels who were deep in passionate conversation over something or other to do with the drive core. She worried a little that the two of them were keeping to themselves rather than integrating with the crew as a whole, but the transition from military life to a more civilian setting such as this had its challenges and she had some ideas of how to get them more involved with the others. On the upside, they both benefited from each other's presence both professionally and personally.

In contrast to the bustle of the crew deck, Deck One was still and quiet except for the hum of the ship's machinery. It seemed almost lifeless.

Kelly suppressed a shiver and knocked on the door.

"Come in." Shepard looked up at her entrance, fingers pausing on her computer's keyboard. Like many in the military she went 'bare-skinned', with tiny implants in each finger tip for the use of haptic interfaces. Kelly personally preferred physical datapads and used gloves for anything else.

She set the plate on her desk. "There you go! Courtesy of the chef."

Shepard glanced at the pill container and she frowned. "What're the pills?"

Still exhibiting paranoia, then. "Supplements, Commander, from Doctor Chakwas. Iodine, vitamin d."

"Mm. Thank you, Chambers." She went back to her screen.

She'd tried already to get Shepard to call her Kelly. "Commander?"

Shepard glanced back up. She had nice eyes, Kelly decided, a dark, warm brown. "Yes?"

"Have I done something to offend you?"

Shepard leant back in her chair and raised an eyebrow. "No."

"Well, I just want you to know that if you need to talk, I'm always here. You've been through a pretty huge life event, some trouble adjusting is to be expected."

"Thank you," Shepard picked up her fork and poked at her hopefully spam, "but it's unnecessary."

Kelly frowned at her, disappointed. Shepard had accepted psychological treatment in the past and organised for those under her command who needed it to get it. "I thought you would understand the need to look after your mental health as well physical."

"Why did you join Cerberus, Chambers?"

She blinked at the subject change. "Cerberus is helping humanity, Commander. The Alliance is too busy with politics, and there are people suffering out there. People who need our help."

Shepard tilted her head, jaw set, "And what about aliens?"

"Just because Cerberus is here to advance humanity, doesn't mean we have to hate other species," she replied earnestly, "My sister has a cat shelter, but she still likes dogs."

Shepard didn't look placated. "The way I see it, Chambers, you're either a lying terrorist or you're naive. And neither appeals to me in a therapist."

Kelly reeled back, stung despite herself. "Or maybe," she said very quietly, "I'm a normal person just like most of the people on this ship who wants to help you save the colonies."

Shepard's gaze was hard, unmoved. "We'll see, won't we?"

* * *

The 'go pill' dissolved under her tongue, leaving a tingling behind. Shepard shook herself and wrinkled her nose. She'd always hated using stims - she disliked crutches in general, but she also hated how they made her feel all jittery and how many people she'd seen get hooked and end their careers in front of a judge. She'd avoided them as much as possible and made sure everyone under her command did the same. But sometimes you just had to bite the bullet, and this was one of those times.

Sleep hadn't come easy since Elysium all those years ago, but now she was getting pretty much none. If it wasn't her brain churning and churning about being trapped, about her family, about _Ash,_ about the gaps in her memory, it was the nightmares. Akuze wouldn't leave her alone.

It wasn't a betrayal, she told herself, it was just survival. They would've understood.

She couldn't sleep, but she couldn't let her guard down either. Chambers had already attempted to get to her, and Lawson was exceedingly intelligent. She'd be on the lookout for signs that Shepard was making her own plots, preparing to escape or steal the ship. She thought she'd headed off any concerns about her conversation with Jack by telling Lawson in minute detail what she thought of Cerberus insisting she bring an unstable murderer aboard the ship.

It wasn't even lies. If Jack truly was a monster then she was one of Cerberus' making, and Shepard had no intentions of letting the Illusive Man recapture her, but _seriously_. They were throwing a travelling circus at her and telling her to create a unit capable of doing the impossible. Nevermind the training and selection that had gone into the Raider team she'd had aboard the SR1.

Shepard sipped her coffee, staring sightlessly at yet another report. Bands of iron squeezed tight around her ribcage. _Staff Sergeant Talitha Draven. Sergeant Alexei Dubyansky. Sergeant Amina Waaberi._ Good Marines. Loyal, brave, disciplined. They'd followed her into the dark, risking their lives and their careers, because she'd asked them and because it was the right thing to do.

And God, Ashley. It would've hurt her so badly - losing her friends, her Marines so soon after Eden Prime. And Shepard hadn't been there. She'd been lying on a Cerberus operating table.

Where was Ash right now? Was she safe? Had she moved on?

Something twisted painfully in Shepard's chest. Two years was a long time. Sometimes she could nearly forget - like earlier on Purgatory, with her rifle in her hand and her blood sparking hot with familiar anger, and she could almost _almost_ think it was 2183 again. But Garrus was harder, scarred, and Taylor, Lawson? They weren't Kaidan or Ashley.

_I love you._ She'd been half out of her mind the first time Ash had told her that, grounded only by Ash's weight on top of her. They'd had plans. Eventually Ash would have to go to OCS and N School, and then probably to a different MSOT, but that would be alright. They'd get an apartment together on Arcturus or the Citadel, some place more alive than Shepard's sterile living space. They'd make it work.

But then Shepard had died. And if Ash had moved on, she could hardly blame her. She wanted her to be happy.

But there was a selfish part of Shepard that wanted Ash to be happy with _her_.

Ash also deserved to know she was alive, regardless of everything else. She'd thought about emailing her, but Cerberus had to be reading her emails and the holo frame was already evidence that they knew far too much about their relationship as it was. And a goddamn email seemed a pretty harsh way to drop it on her.

Shepard just had to hope that Tali could get a message to the Alliance. That 'no Marine left behind' meant something when said Marine was brought back from the dead by a terrorist organisation.

She tossed the datapad aside. "How the fuck is this my life?"

Shepard stayed still, forehead pressed to her fist for several long minutes. The smooth tones of EDI's voice sank through the churning inside her skull. "Mr Vakarian is here to see you as requested, Commander."

At least she had Garrus. She'd thought him reckless two years ago, prone to finding solutions out of the barrel of a gun. But she could trust him, and that was a limited commodity. She lifted her head and raised her voice, "Come in!"

He had his loaded rifle in his talons. He tilted his head questioningly at her. "Is there a reason you asked me to bring a gun?"

She shot him a half-smileand patted her own sidearm, holstered at her hip. "Yep. Want to help me go wake up a krogan supersoldier of unknown loyalties and intent?"

"Never a boring day with you around, Shepard."

* * *

The air on this ship smelt sterile, like the lab Grunt had been birthed from. The humans - _soft, fragile, cunning, sever the spinal cord or crush the throat -_ darted out of his way like frightened fish in the presence of a predator. Soft, but Shepard hadn't needed the two hundred kilos of muscle or the tough skin of a krogan to outmaneuver him. She'd jammed her pistol under the fleshy part of his chin, where the bullet would have gone right through his brain - something even a krogan would not survive, and with the other hand she'd invited him into her clan. Invited him to fight her enemies. _My enemies threaten the galaxy._ They would see.

The turian - _stab the waist, break the spur -_ he'd passed on his way out had only relaxed his grip on his rifle when he'd seen Shepard. That one was the human's krannt, for all that the imprints spoke of emnity, _blood feud_ between the two species. Okeer had wanted him to feel something about this - _turian, enemy, every turian you kill is a monument to those who died in glorious battle and those who never drew breath -_ but he felt nothing, except the anticipation of the test Vakarian might prove should it come time for Grunt to kill Shepard. Okeer had failed, and he could not respect failure.

The turian had followed him. He clearly didn't trust Grunt's intentions towards the rest of his warlord's clan. Wise.

Not all of these humans were krannt to Shepard. He could smell it, like rot in the clan's heart. Disloyalty, a power struggle, mistrust. Some of the humans were not sure who they should follow - Shepard or the black haired human female that had been upset at his release. Shepard should just kill the challenger and her krannt, cement her hold on the clan.

But the human hadn't appreciated his advice.

"What is this place?" he demanded of the ship's computer.

The blue orb popped up before him. "This is Deck Three of the _Normandy,_ which primarily consists of crew quarters, the med lab and the main gunnery control room." _If capturing a ship, secure the bridge and main gunnery room. If destroying it from the inside, go for the drive core._ The imprints hummed in his head, but they had all the bite of gnats. "The room you are in now is the mess hall, where food is prepared and served."

"Food," he rumbled. He had never eaten before. He would like to.

He stomped towards the nearest human - an old male warrior with the marks of battle twisting his face. He had a cup of something hot and a plate full of yellow mush.

Grunt pointed one thick finger at the cup. "What is that?"

"Bloody hell," the human grumbled, "can't have your goddamned breakfast in peace these days." Two eyes, one a clear green and the other milky, looked him over. "Shepard wasn't joking when she said you were one big fucker. It's coffee. Drink of bloody life in the war business. Go on, 'ave a taste."

Grunt warily took the cup from the male's hand. The mug was dwarfed by his hand - the slightest clench of his fingers and he would shatter it. He poured the entire cup of 'coffee' down his throat in a single gulp.

He nearly spat it right back out. "Bitter."

"You get used to it. Then you get bloody addicted."

"Food," Grunt growled.

"Gardner! Get us some bloody eggs, would ya? Got a growing boy over here, don't we?"

'Gardner' gaped at him. He didn't have the look of a warrior - Grunt thusly dismissed him.

"C'mon!" the other man called impatiently. "Some of those eggs already. Trust me, you don't want a fuckin' hungry krogan on your ship."

Gardner hurried over with another plate of the mush which he set in front of Grunt. The stool groaned dangerously under his weight when he sat on it, picking up the tiny fork for a moment, examining it and then tossing it aside.

"Scrambled eggs. Well. Maybe not eggs. Dunno what the fuck the crap Gardner puts into it. But it's food."

Grunt picked up the plate and upended it into his mouth. He chewed a few times thoughtfully. These eggs were not bad. He decided he liked eating. The imprints had nothing to say about that, and he found he liked that. He was more than what Okeer had made him to be. He would prove himself in battle, prove he had earnt his strength, and he would find things that for him.

"Alright?"

"...Yes."

"You checked out the armoury yet?"

His blue eyes brightened. "Weapons!"

"Cerberus regulations prohibit the carrying of weapons onboard, Mr Massani" the ship's computer warned.

"Someone bloody well oughta remind Shepard and Vakarian then," Massani chuckled, "and don't get your knickers in a twist, EDI. Just gonna show him, that's all. Shepard wants me to make sure everyone's got all the skills needed. Might as well get started on newborn krogan here."

His fingers itched for a shotgun all of a sudden. Give him a gun and an enemy and he would shoot, rip, _kill_. He was not sure what he was _for,_ what purpose he would serve - but battle would lead him to it. Of this he was sure.

"This way." Massani led him towards the elevator.

* * *

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	7. Friends In Unexpected Places

The market hummed around Jacob Taylor like a living thing, loud with the voices of a dozen different languages. Elcor, batarians, asari, salarians all hawking their wares, gangsters lurking in dark corners with hands close to their guns, arrogant mercenaries sauntering through the crowds as if nothing could touch them. And Jacob was watching Commander Shepard's back.

She'd asked for him. Just him. He wasn't sure exactly why - she'd been spending most of her time with Vakarian, enough that he'd worried his fledgling connection with her was dying. But he couldn't blame her for not wanting to bring Jack or Grunt - those two were decidedly volatile.

"Just Jacob?" Miranda had demanded and he'd been a little insulted at that, if he was honest.

Shepard had shrugged. "We know how to take care of ourselves and it's just to pick up some munitions. Taylor here is the armoury chief after all."

Now she frowned at a HK M5 pistol, hefting it up and checking it over. If elcor could, Jacob bet that Harrot would be sweating buckets. She slapped a credit chit down on the counter hard enough Jacob sworn the elcor jumped and walked off, tucking the pistol into her webbing.

"Can you even break an elcor's legs?" he asked.

Shepard shrugged carelessly. "I would've given it my best shot."

"Fair enough." If anyone could do it, he'd put his money on Commander Shepard.

He turned to talk to another shop keeper, looking at a rack of honest to God rocket launchers. You really could buy anything on Omega. They weren't Alliance spec weapons, but Shepard had requested some more heavier weapons than the single ML-77 Zaeed had brought with. And he at least trusted Marketh here to keep the weapons in firing order. They'd done business before.

Jacob haggled for a good ten minutes before they agreed on a price and the batarian woman handed over another couple of rocket launchers and ammunition in a case. He grunted as he hefted it.

"Got what we need?"

He hadn't realised Shepard had vanished until she reappeared at his shoulder. Some bodyguard he was. Miranda would've killed him.

"Yes ma'am." He glanced over at her. Blinked. "Is that a hamster?"

She had a box under her arm and that was definitely a small, furry hamster.

"Yep."

"And those are ship models."

In her other hand she was carrying a bag containing several boxes. Of ship models. Turian frigate and cruiser.

"Mhm. Very relaxing to build. Did you organise for those machine guns and the ammo blocks I asked for?"

"Uh. Yes ma'am. They'll be delivered to the Normandy, along with the lab equipment Doctor Solus was after." He wasn't sure what to think of Mordin Solus. He moved around the ship in a bustle of spoken thought, and he'd asked Jacob for blood and hair samples. What did a salarian biologist need with his blood?

"Good job, Taylor." Shepard stretched. "We should get back to the ship before Miranda sends out a search party." She'd ordered the Normandy back to the station primarily so that Mordin could get some more lab equipment.

He followed her through the tight pressed crowd, hand lingering close to his weapon. There were plenty of predators waiting for any sign of weakness to pounce on. He was responsible for keeping his captain safe right now.

They headed into the emptier streets, back towards the dock where they'd left the ship.

"What's the plan from here?" Jacob asked.

Shepard glanced over at him. "'Stop the Collectors' is a bit of a bloody vague mission objective, if you ask me. We need more bodies and more intel. Either is useless without the other, and it's not like I can call up the AIA anymore. And we need to do some bastardised version of pre-deployment training since Timmy thinks it's a good idea I do all of that during the mission instead of before it."

Jacob wasn't sure if he should laugh or be a bit scandalised by her nickname for the Illusive Man. Maybe a bit of both. "You sound a bit worried."

Shepard frowned at him. "Half the crew are civilians. I've spent most of my adult life staying away from civilians. I don't think the CIC crew are going to appreciate my knife games or how many curse words I can fit into one sentence."

"Didn't you have a couple of civilians aboard the SR1?" he asked. A wiry salarian watched them - Jacob shot him back a hard glare that had the man skittering back into the shadows.

"Yeah, but then I could just go make my Marines run laps if they were being fuck ups. I don't think Jack or Miranda would appreciate that."

"Nah. You'd probably get tossed through a bulkhead-"

Metal rang against metal. An oblong object clattering down at his feet. _Grenade!_

"Ma'am, get back-" he forced a barrier out in front of him. It went off with a roar of sound that rattled him down to the bone, whiting out his vision. He couldn't see, he couldn't - his legs slipped from under him and he hit the ground with a thump he couldn't hear over the ringing in his ears. _Flashbang._ He had to get up.

There was a prick on the side of his bare neck.

His last thought before darkness overwhelmed him was _should've worn a helmet._

* * *

"Taylor!" Shepard staggered drunkenly, feeling as if someone had clocked her over the head with a baseball bat. She'd dropped the poor hamster – _sorry, little fella._ He was an unmoving lump on the dirty street. She drew her corona around her in flashes of angry blue light.

A tech grenade sailed out of the darkness towards her - she snarled and angrily batted it away with her biotics, smashing it into a nearby wall where it went off with a crackle. She'd had enough of overload, sabotage, neural shock fields, all of them, for a lifetime.

Or two, she supposed.

She drew her new pistol, folding her fingers around the familiar lines of the M5, and pointed it into the alleyway. "Get out here or I start tossing warp fields."

Movement. Two people in dark glossy armour, rifles in their hands. If they'd wanted her dead, why not just start shooting right after the flashbang? With a couple of rifles they could lay down enough fire to overwhelm her soon enough.

Or they could've just had the sniper up in the two storey window put a round through her skull.

Damnit. Her head hurt, she was worried about her new hamster, and her fingers trembled on her pistol as she pointed the muzzle at the lead figure's chest. She wanted things to make sense again.

"The fuck do you want?" Shepard demanded.

"I want to know," the leader said in a familiar voice, "why you're pretending to be a dead friend of mine."

Her eyes widened, the pistol's muzzle drifting down. "Coyle?"

He went for her wrist. She snarled, shoving him off with a flash of biotics - and then smacked him in the visor with the pistol butt, hard enough that it resounded with a dull _clack._ "Do you mind?"

"You're pointing a gun at me," he pointed out.

"You just tried to hit me with a neural shock. You know I fuckin' hate those things." She made a show of holstering her pistol. "There."

After a moment he shook his head. "Emilia Shepard is dead. You're just some - imposter or something."

"I've been getting that a lot," she grumbled. "It's me. It's...a long story, but it's me."

"I helped bury you," Coyle said very softly and she froze. "They brought a few bits of your bones from Alchera. Were they even yours?"

_Bones._ She shuddered, a sick taste on her tongue. The fear she'd been trying to force down for weeks lurched up, into her throat. _What did they_ do _to me?_

"They were. I think." The pain in her legs, in her shoulder. God. She'd demanded the report from Miranda but she couldn't bring herself to read it.

Coyle stared at her, eyes hard under his tinted visor. "Help me out here, Shepard. None of the possible explanations look great."

A lump formed in her throat. "You think I - ? My own ship? My own people?"

"Then tell me what happened."

"It's a long story." She didn't know where to start.

"I've got time." His mouth was a hard, straight line.

"Uh, not to contradict you, glorious Captain," interrupted his companion in a wry, feminine voice, "but he's goin' wake up soon." She pointed at Jacob. Her helmet swept backwards in a way that suggested she was asari.

He drew in a sharp breath. "I've got a place nearby. We'll stash him somewhere safe and then we can talk."

"Sounds good to me. Just don't underestimate Taylor. He's a Raider." Ex-Raider? He'd joined Cerberus, which probably violated their oath. Whatever. it wasn't important.

The fact Coyle hadn't started shooting was a good sign. He was a stubborn old bastard, but the bond between two N7s that'd worked as closely together as they had - that wasn't something easily broken. He'd listen to her. And maybe he could help her get Garrus, Chakwas and Joker of the _Normandy._ And Jack for that matter - like hell she was letting the Illusive Man get his hands on her again. Shepard was sick of watching everything she said, of not trusting anyone around her, of having the eyes of the dead on her.

She wanted to go home.

"Roger that. C'mon Iallisava, help me pick him up." The two Corsairs lifted Jacob's solid, unconscious between them, and after a moment Shepard followed them into the dark alleyway, picking up the box of indignant hamster. Wasn't like she was going to complain if he shoved a bag over her head and bundled her back to the Alliance anyway.

They wound through the warren-like intestines of Omega, past the destitute sleeping under doorways, vorcha seething in corners but warned off by their armour and weapons. Coyle said nothing to her.

The Corsair base was a mix of bunker and hangar, guarded by thick blast doors and a couple of nasty looking defence turrets. Inside was a bustle of activity as people of at least five species darted around moving supply crates, a couple of missiles and working on a grey-painted Kodiak. Both people and equipment looked on the battered side, but everything was clean and there was a sense of pride. A togetherness. It made Shepard's chest hurt.

"Captain!" a batarian man half-ran to them, a pistol bumping his hip. "How did it-" he stopped, staring at Shepard with all four of his eyes.

"How it went depends on what she has to tell me," Coyle said, jerking his chin toward her.

"We should talk alone." she wasn't about to confide every fucked up thing that had happened to her since they'd last met under the eyes of his entire goddamn Corsair crew.

"You're the one the Big Bosses got us lookin' for. The impostor of that dead war hero," it was the batarian who spoke, glaring at her with all four eyes. "Who's t' say you won't just kill our captain here when you got him alone?"

"We're old friends," she said irritably, "he knows it's me." She was sick of the doubt, the suspicion, even if she understood it. Was it too much to ask for _someone_ to be happy to see her? 'Hey Shepard, missed you, glad you're back, want help with your terrorist problem?'

Coyle shrugged. "What present did I give you for your twenty-seventh birthday?"

She scowled at him. "Present? You shoved a fucking snake into my hooch!"

He chuckled, still inordinately pleased with himself four years later. "It wasn't a snake. Legless lizard native to - what was that rock? Hansev? Completely harmless."

"Yeah, well you see how your fucking taxonomy is when you wake up to something slithering in your sleeping bag!"

He laughed, the deep belly laugh she remembered from that very incident. "Taking contact, mortar fire - nothing made you shriek like that."

"Prick," she grumbled.

The young batarian man looked somewhat mollified when Coyle slapped a hand down on his shoulder. "It's her alright, Cator. Just worry about loading those supplies. C'mon then, Junior."

"Still adopting the strays of the galaxy, I see," Shepard observed when he led her into his office and she set her shopping down in the corner. Hamster seemed alright. Maybe she could get Chakwas to have a look at him back on the ship.

There was little personal about it - or perhaps rather the whole Corsair business _was_ his personal life. A galaxy map sprouted from his desk, blinking with soft blue lights and a financial report was projected onto a wall. Even with Alliance funding and keeping the spoils of his attacks on pirates, running a warship was expensive business.

"Be nice. You were one of those strays once."

"No, I wasn't," she settled in a chair across from him.

"Yeah, you were." He set his helmet on his desk, running a gloved hand over his craggy face, "Angry, newly divorced young officer, chip as big as Saturn on her shoulder."

She glared at him. "I wanted to do my job."

"You wanted to prove yourself, prove you could still do the job," he corrected, going serious, "Akuze did a number on you. So when I hear these rumours you're still alive and working with the goddamn Hell Hound…Help me out here."

"Her name - or at least the one she's given me - is Miranda Lawson," she supplied immediately. "Australian. From Melbourne or Sydney, if I had to guess. She's a cyberneticist and quite possibly a genius. She's also the first person I saw when I woke up the first time."

"Woke up?" he leant forward.

So she talked him through the past few weeks. Waking up still half-broken, finding out about Cerberus, seeing the _Normandy,_ Freedom's Progress, all of it.

"Shit, Shepard. That's a hell of a thing." He leant back, eyes wide.

"I know it sounds crazy, but it's the truth."

He drummed his fingers against the desk, thoughtful. "Now the big question is - why? Why did Cerberus bring you back? Why are they sending you after the Collectors? How does it fulfill their objectives?"

"Their leader says he believes in the Reapers, and he thinks the Collectors are related to that."

"Sure, but if just wanted that - and no offense here - he could just bring over another top N7. You're damned good, but so are a lot of people in the Unit. Your cousin for one." He ignored her grimace. "What exactly can he get from you he can't from anyone else, that's worth all the time and money spent on bringing you back? Say you succeed. You stop the colony attacks. What does Cerberus get if Commander Emilia Shepard saves the colonies while flying their flag?"

She looked away, at the flickering lights of his galaxy map. "Legitimacy? They look like an alternative to the Alliance to the people in the Traverse and Terminus. People getting shit done, not just a terrorist group known for murdering Marines.'

"Yeah. That's what I think too. They don't just get _you -_ they get your reputation attached to theirs. Commander Shepard, Lion of Elysium."

"I hate that name," she grumbled, running a hand through her short hair.

"It doesn't matter," Coyle said pitilessly, "it's what people think. It's what Cerberus wants."

"I'm gonna need your help on this one," she admitted, "If it were just me it'd be easy, but we need to get my people out too…" She trailed off. There was something frighteningly like reluctance or maybe regret crossing his face. "Coyle, _c'mon._ You're gonna blue falcon me now of all times?"

Coyle held up his hands. "Easy, Shepard. I need you to listen to me for a second."

"I don't know how much longer I can do this," Shepard told him softly, voice close to cracking right down the middle.

Coyle reached over and put his hand over hers. They were both wearing gauntlets, but the gesture was appreciated. "I'm sorry. But…" he sighed heavily, shoulders rising and falling, "I'm pretty sure Cerberus already leaked your survival. The Alliance has gotten reports of someone who looks like you walking around with known Cerberus agent."

"Yeah, you said," she shrugged dismissively.

"Shepard," Coyle's voice was gentle, "there's two theories amongst the brass. Imposter or traitor. Do you really want to go home to that reception?"

"So what?" she shook her head, "They call me a traitor so I become one?"

"No." He reached for her arm again, squeezing with a dull groan of ceramic plating. "You do what you're so good at - you kick these Collectors straight to hell, save the Terminus colonies, all that crap. And all that time you're learning about Cerberus, and maybe you toss that my way sometimes. And when the time is right, you come in out of the cold."

"With plenty of intel backing up that I was Alliance all along," she said dryly.

"Exactly. I know it's a lot to ask, Shepard. But you know how it is. No one but us really gives a fuck about those colonies and even as a Corsair I can't do much. We both swore an oath to protect humanity regardless o race, creed or religion, and right now the Alliance is letting those people down. Political realities, whatever. You can hit two birds with one stone here."

Shepard groaned, burying her face in her hands. "Fine. But you better be there when it's time to get me the fuck outta there."

"Just say the word," he promised.

"Can you let Anderson, my mum and - and Ash know I'm alive?"

"I can try. Might have to wait a little bit for Anderson - I want you off Omega before I tell the good Commodore I disobeyed orders - and William's on some kind of classified mission right now. Went dark on me not that long ago."

She blinked, raising her head. "You stayed in contact with her?"

A shadow passed across his narrow face. "She needed someone. Someone who knew the both of you, you know?"

Shepard stared at the table. "How is she?"

He paused. "It was hard on her. On your mum too. But she was doing good, last time I saw her. Finished her N5."

"That's good." There were so many other things she wanted to ask. How was her mother, her brother? Had Jules gotten that promotion to Master Sergeant yet? Had Ash moved on? Was her career doing well? But the words stuck in her throat. "I should go."

"Yeah, your man should be awake by now. Better let him out before he goes all Raider on my poor employees."

Shepard waited out in the dim, trash-choked street until two of Coyle's crew - the young batarian, Cator, and the asari, Josari - propelled a still groggy Jacob out the bunker door, tossed his amp and weapons out after him and then slammed the door down with a definitive _thud_. His face lit up at the sight of her.

"Commander! You're alright!" He scrambled after his gear and then rushed over to her, looking her up and down for damage, "Those were damned pirates, right?"

"They prefer the term 'privateer'," she said mildly. It wasn't even a lie, but if she said Corsair - well, Jacob had been one. He might make connections she didn't want him to. "Old friends."

Jacob squinted at her. "You're friends with privateers?"

"I was a N7," she pointed out, "I made all sorts of weird friends. Some of them were even okay-ish people. We should get back to the ship."

He groaned. "Miranda is going to _kill_ me."

"Weell," she gave him as much of a sheepish expression as she could, "I was hoping you wouldn't mention it to her."

He glanced over at her, "Huh?"

"She'll have me wrapped in bubble wrap and guarded by an entire squad before either of us can blink," she grumbled, letting some real frustration seep into her voice. She was more than Miranda Lawson's science experiment.

He thought it over as they moved through the dark corridors, guided by Shepard's omnitool, orange light washing over her arm and shoulder. "Yeah, sure. Our secret."

"Cheers. Getting knocked out by a coupla mercs? Bloody embarrassing."

* * *

**Codex Entry**

Systems Alliance Corsair Program: The Alliance Corsair program is a classified military operation under the auspice of the Systems Alliance Intelligence Agency. At its heart, the program involves arming, funding and supplying crews so that they can attack pirates, terrorists and other anti-Alliance and anti-human forces in the Attican Traverse and Terminus Systems, where the Alliance military cannot officially go. Often a Corsair crew will be formed around an experienced former Navy Space Warfare Officer or SpecOps operative and given a ship - usually an outdated warship or one captured from pirates by the SAN. The Corsair program recruits heavily from amongst N rated military personnel and the SWO and intelligence communities.

While given funding, running any warship is expensive business, so Corsair crews are given rewards according to the amount of tonnage they destroy or capture. They are also allowed to keep the majority of the cargo they capture - excepting of course slaves, who must be evacuated to Alliance space. This can attract the unscrupulous - though it could be argued that SAIS doesn't mind that, so long as the attacks against pirates and slavers continue.

While given not insignificant support and intelligence, the main advantage of the Corsair program is that the Alliance can disavow the attacks on rival shipping. The flip-side of this is that if a Corsair runs into real trouble, the cavalry isn't coming. The Corsair base of Noveau California - established by four successful Corsair captains - was destroyed in 2182 by a consortium of pirates, and the Alliance fleet at Fleet Depot Minerva, three jumps away, didn't leave home.

It isn't unknown for unaffiliated human pirates to try and borrow the name - or even for a particularly greedy captain to go rogue. These individuals are usually 'corrected' by other Corsairs - if not paid a visit by the Alliance's special operations teams if they become too much of an embarrassment.


	8. Milk Run

The ground beneath Shepard shook and trembled like a living thing. It rattled her right down to her bones. A heavy weight was slung across her burning shoulders, feet dragging in the dirt. It was dark and her helmet was broken, a crack right down the visor. She couldn't see the others - only hear the screams and the shouting.

"Drop me -" Richardson's voice was a weak string ready to snap. He didn't have the strength to push her away, to make her drop him. He could only whisper, beg, plead.

Shepard stumbled up the rocky slope, feet and one hand scrabbling as stones slid underneath her. The pain burrowed into her, down to the bone.

Finally her feet slipped from under her and she hit the dust with a hard thump, spilling her Master Sergeant onto the ground with a low, tattered moan of pain. Everything was haze of red. Everything she was had been melted down into the most basic of instincts, the roar of adrenaline in her ears. _Survive_.

_Get up. He needs you._ She could save him. Maybe that would be enough to make up for the rest of it.

There was blood running down her arm, in her mouth. She pushed herself up. Looped her hand in his webbing and pulled with her one working arm. He gasped, his fingers like hooks digging into the dirt as she dragged his shredded body.

"Stay with me. Please stay with me-"

The clouds above them broke with the hum of a ship's engine. The Alliance had come for them. She'd known they would. Shepard tilted her head back, cracked lips parted, looking for salvation.

The ship slipped through the clouds, bulbous and pitted, red light sheeting off its flanks. Its mouth was a pit of violent yellow fire.

"We have to move-" A hand clasped around her bicep and tugged - she nearly shrieked at the pain - but she held onto Richardson's armour with grim determination. "Please, Shepard-"

Under her visor, Ashley's eyes were wide and afraid. A few strands of dark hair had escaped her bun and were stuck to her forehead and cheeks. Shepard was reminded of those late nights in the gym, fingers brushing fingers as they passed weights or curled into fists - the only way they were allowed to touch each other.

"Please come with me," Ashley told her.

Her fingers were knotted in Richardson's webbing. "I can't leave him."

"Shepard, _please_ -"

Above, the ship rumbled hungrily and fire came down to meet them.

Shepard woke with the taste of metal in her mouth. Above her was only the blank planes of the shutter. Her heart was a rapid drum against her sternum.

_Get it together._ She was on a starship, not Akuze - and there'd been only thresher maws and Alliance on Akuze.

Besides the Cerberus researchers. Her guts twisted with the echo of old grief - now with a bitter edge.

_He'd understand._ But his wife wouldn't. She'd been so kind to Shepard, even when Shepard had called her to tell her the truth after finding Toombs, and now Shepard was working with her husband's murderers.

She forced herself to breath in, out. In. Out. Feel the soft sheets beneath her fingers, listen to the bubbling of that ridiculous fish tank.

"Commander Shepard, Helmsman Moreau would like to inform you that we have entered the Fathar System and are running quiet. Mission preparation is underway. Operative Lawson would like to meet with you in one hour." EDI's voice was smooth and without inflection, but Shepard focused on it anyway.

"Tell her I'll see her then." Rescuing a Cerberus operative, or at least recovering his data. The Illusive Man wanted her to dance on his strings, but she was no puppet. But it was an opportunity - she wanted a copy of that data.

That just meant making sure Miranda and Jacob weren't nearby when she had the chance.

Shepard ate breakfast, showered, dressed in the dark uniform-like clothes she'd bought for herself. Made light conversation with Gardner before she headed back to her cabin. Mechanical actions - nothing but maintenance.

She looked up from her desk when Lawson swept into the room. Hopefully this wasn't going to be about the simulations and firing drills again. She hadn't liked Shepard's orders that everyone would be learning to use a rifle if they didn't already know how - and that all of them would be doing fireteam and squad drills in the simulator.

Lawson was no doubt good at infiltration but the battlefield was no place to find out she or Jack or Grunt lacked basic infantry skills.

Jack hadn't been pleased either - she'd survived on her own for this long, with all the confidence in her own skills that created - but when she'd seen Lawson complaining she'd decided to show off in the simulator instead.

"I don't see why it's necessary -" Lawson stopped. Blinked. "Is that a hamster?"

"Yep. His name is Arancini."

"Arancini?"

"Yeah. Stuffed rice balls - orange once they're cooked. My abuela makes the best ones." Shepard crossed her legs as she sorted through her datapads, nonchalant.

"Why do you have a hamster in your cabin, Shepard?"

"You're the one who gave me the credit chit-"

"For mission vital supplies," Lawson said flatly, "Instead you spent it on a hamster and clothes you don't need."

"My _morale_ is mission vital," Shepard said easily, "and between the two of us, it's been suffering."

"Shepard," Miranda gritted out.

"Don't worry," she said with a faint smile, "you're not the first person to consider tossing me out an airlock." She extended a hand and the datapad in it to Lawson. "Tim wants us to go rescue one of you guys' operatives from Eclipse. Good time to see if everyone will work together long enough to not get shot in the face."

"Don't call him that," Lawson said absently as she read through it. She was a hard to read woman, but Shepard thought she was pleased when she came to the team allocation list. Shepard would take Jack, Garrus and Massani while Lawson would lead a team of Jacob, Mordin and their new krogan paperweight.

"Don't feel afraid to toss Grunt into some walls if he acts up," Shepard said, "you won't hurt him."

"I'll…keep that in mind."

* * *

Shepard studied the recon drone feeds projected from the briefing room table. Garrus crossed his arms as he stood at her shoulder, watching the others. The atmosphere was prickly - Jack lurking in a corner glaring at Operative Lawson, Grunt looming over them all, eager for violence. The SR1's Lance Team, it wasn't.

The Eclipse mercenaries had built their base into a hollowed out hill a good two hundred klicks from the capital city of Jalnor, with observation posts on nearby ridges.

"It's a small facility. Platoon strength Eclipse unit at most - they wanted this guy out of sight. Still, as soon as this post goes silent it's likely Eclipse will send a QRF to investigate." Shepard looked up. The scar along her jaw had lengthened, a jagged tear in dark skin. He doubted she was sleeping, but what could he say? Neither was he. "Lorek is a Hegemony world. It's not a place a human warship wants to get caught on. We move fast, hit hard and get out quick."

An image popped up - the face of a human man. Lawson spoke in her crisp, clipped way. "This is Operative Tyrone Rawlings, our primary objective. If extracting him alive is impossible, the Illusive Man will settle for his data. It's imperative that data doesn't remain in the hands of mercenaries."

Jack picked at her nails, looking utterly disinterested.

"I've sent you your team postings. _Normandy's_ callsign is Dragon. My team is Raptor One, Lawson's team is Raptor Two. We'll insert via shuttle, split up and hit the observation posts simultaneously - getting their MG pits down quickly is important - before assaulting the main facility. Any questions?"

Garrus shook his head. He was glad he was going with Shepard. He was the only one in this room who was here for her.

"Alright. You've all done some small unit drills in the simulator now, but this is the real deal. Don't fuck it up. Dismissed."

Before too long the eight of them were crammed into the ship's shuttle as it rattled towards the ground. Joker had gotten the _Normandy_ as close to the facility as he could before they launched the shuttle - hoping to avoid the planet's spy satellites high in orbit.

Shepard had found Garrus a Phaeston assault rifle to pair with his Mantis sniper rifle. It felt like an old friend in his claws - familiar curves and planes, familiar kick back. The Mantis might be useful when taking out the observation posts, but once they breached the facility he'd need the Phaeston's rate of fire.

The Commander leant forward from her seat by him, yelling to Sarah Patel over the roar of the Kodiak's engines. "Don't stick around! Put us in and get out - you don't want to get detected by the orbital defences, trust me."

"Uh- sure thing, ma'am," the pilot managed. She was a good shuttle pilot, but she was a civilian shuttle pilot.

The shuttle dipped through the clouds in a smooth, curving descent that ended with Patel landing softly behind a copse of scraggly, yellow green leaved trees. Garrus immediately darted out to pull security with his rifle. His mandibles tightened in irritation when he realised that some of the others hadn't - Jack had, which surprised him, but Grunt was just standing around with that ludicrously huge shotgun of his.

They were all going to die, he decided.

Patel's shuttle lifted into the dull sunlight in a blinding flash of metal and they split up, heading towards their perspective targets. Shepard led the way, with her newly modified HK M8 in hand - she'd gotten Jacob to attach the tube of a grenade launcher beneath the barrel, with Jack following, then Massani and finally Garrus on their six.

The terrain around them made it slow going - all steep hills and sheer cliff faces. A few shrubs and twisted trees clung here and there to stony patches of dirt.

"Nice place," he remarked.

Shepard ignored him. Figured.

He found the sniper's perch they'd marked out from the drone surveillance - a rock formation looking down on the observation post. He crawled on his belly until he could peek over at the post through his scope, as Shepard manoeuvred the others closer, using a ridgeline as cover.

It was a sorry excuse for an outpost; a rough circle of barricades, tan against the rocky hill, an unarmed APC parked inside and a pit of sandbags containing a medium machinegun. From that position they could fire on the canyon that wormed to the front door of the main Eclipse base. There was only a fireteam of four bored troopers there - nothing he and Shepard couldn't have handled themselves really - and only one of them was really on watch, scanning the hills. The machinegunner was lounging next to his weapon, playing on his omnitool. They were complacent.

Amateur hour.

Garrus hovered the reticle over the chest of the team leader - asari, probably a Vanguard - and then waited. The Eclipse symbol was sharp against the yellow of her armour. There was a metallic taste in his mouth - he almost thought that if he closed his eyes for too long he'd open them and he would be back on that bridge.

Anger drummed through him. Eclipse was built on the backs of the violated and exploited. They deserved to die.

_Wait_. Shepard was relying on him. He just had to wait until Shepard was in position and then-

His trigger finger itched.

The attack opened with a shrieking and rumbling cacophony of sound - a rocket fired by Zaeed careening into the MG pit and blowing the gunner into red bits, the dull _thunk_ of Shepard's grenade launcher firing followed by the whistle of shrapnel ripping into another merc.

The team leader jerked to her feet, glowing. Garrus pulled the trigger smoothly and the round ripped through her chest. She crumpled to the ground, like a puppet with cut strings, biotic corona dying abruptly.

The survivor ran for the machinegun.

He heard Jack laugh, the sound carrying in the still, tepid air, and the mercenary was lifted up with a flutter of violent energy, then smashed into the ground with bone breaking force. He didn't get back up.

Shepard put another grenade into the pit to blow the machinegun apart.

With the slaughter done, he climbed to his feet and hurried down the slope.

"Raptor Two, this is Raptor One," Shepard nodded to him, "Target Alpha is down, over." She lowered her hand from her helmet. "Garrus, see if you can patch us into their network?"

"I'll see what I can do," he promised and climbed over the barricade. They hadn't laid wire or anti-personnel mines. Sloppy. But this was Lorek - for all the Hegemony's issues it was a relatively peaceful world with a strong central government. Eclipse was probably used to guarding a few fat slavers, killing a few escaped slaves who got their hands on old weapons.

That metallic taste was back in his mouth. In the distance he could hear the rumble of gunfire - Lawson's team engaging the other outpost most likely.

He went straight for the team leader he'd shot. She was alive, very barely, her chest rattling with her last breaths. Death was rarely as quick as the vids would have you believe.

They'd shot Butler five times. The first two had hit him in the legs, the last three to the chest and abdomen, before they'd left him bleeding to death on dirty concrete. Kicked his rifle from his limp hands and stepped right over him.

He pulled her omnitool from her limp wrist and the comm unit from her helmet. After a moment he'd managed it - now he could listen in on their transmissions. He could've patched in Shepard, but he'd remembered that she preferred to have him or Tali listen in on any hacked comms and tell her anything important.

The Eclipse sergeant made a soft, wet noise. Under her visor her chin was covered in purple blood.

Garrus pulled out his pistol and shot the Eclipse sergeant in the face. She jerked once and the gurgling stopped.

"Garrus-!" Shepard vaulted over the barricade, bright with a biotic corona. She stopped when she saw the dead mercenary, the pistol in his hand.

"I patched us in," he said simply. "Is the other outpost down yet?"

Shepard looked at him, like she was searching for something, and for a moment he thought she'd demand he explain himself. Put on that tone that had always had his mandibles drooping. Screw the mission, what the _fuck,_ Vakarian?

But after a moment she turned away, "It's down. Let's move."

* * *

_Finally._

After far too much talking, Grunt was finally able to fight - fulfil his purpose. Shepard loved her talking - and her maps and her reports on what they should do. It was all of the brain, not the soul like a good fight should be.

"That's where you're wrong," Shepard had said, amused, as the shuttle had descended, "your mind is your greatest weapon on the battlefield. You'll see."

They crashed through the fortified doors after Grunt had fired one of his rockets at it, busting them down. He liked the explosions, the shudder of the launcher in his hands, the fear in the voices of those he pointed it at. Shepard was right to give it to him.

The large room quickly filled with the crack of gunfire and the strange sounds of biotics, as Miranda detonated Jacob's fields and Jack simply smashed through the nearest enemies. Jack would make a good krogan, he decided.

An asari staggered back, her shields sputtering under a barrage of fire from the turian's rifle. Grunt raised his shotgun and grinned, sharp, when the blast tore into her torso and she collapsed, feet kicking. Gasping for air into ruined lungs, like a flopping fish out of water.

"Heh heh _heh_."

"Grunt!" Shepard's shout didn't sound impressed, "Salarian - now!"

She wanted him to a kill a salarian. Yes. There - the one keeping the clan leader at bay with gunfire and drones, and directing the rest of these 'Eclipse'. A coward's way to fight. Not to mention _boring_.

He lowered his head and charged. The room around him seemed to shake with his footsteps.

"Shrell-"

Heat washed over his shoulder as a ball of plasma barely missed him, splattering against the wall behind him. He felt the impacts on his chest as bullets cut through his kinetic barrier and smacked into the ablative armour encasing him, momentum bled away.

And then he was on him, smashing into the salarian with terrible force. The Eclipse officer was tossed off his feet, scrabbling weakly at the ground as he tried to pull himself backwards and away from the krogan looming over him.

Grunt reached down and wrapped his thick fingers around the frog's scrawny neck. Clenched.

Sticky green blood cascaded over his hand.

The room was silent. Grunt tossed aside his dead enemy and cycled a new heatsink into his shotgun.

Vakarian shot Grunt a wary look and then stepped closer to his warlord. "Shepard, I've got some chatter on their comm. Their QRF is on the way."

She just nodded. "Lawson, hold the doors and keep our exfil route open. I'll get Rawlings."

Lawson hesitated. That was the problem with allowing such division in your clan. Questioning should never be tolerated on the battlefield - that was the whisper of Okeer in his skull again.

Shepard's voice sharpened. " _Now_ , Lawson."

Lawson turned, gesturing for the rest of 'Raptor Two' to follow her. Grunt was pleased - this meant more enemies to fight. He didn't care about this 'Rawlings'. He followed Shepard only because she promised him battle.

Outside in the still air Lawson ordered them to spread out, using the rocks as cover. He swapped weapons reluctantly at her insistence. The assault rifle Shepard had given him felt like it might break in his hands, unlike the solid build of the krogan shotgun. At least he still had the rocket launcher.

He heard the whine of the shuttle before he saw it - yellow colours, light gleaming off its metallic flanks. It began to hover, the doors opening so the troops could jump out.

"Grunt, take it down!" Lawson hissed.

He hefted the ML-77 and fired. The pilot saw the incoming missile and the shuttle dipped - spilling two of its occupants out the open door - but it was too little, too late. The rocket careened into the back of the shuttle, tearing through the main thrusters. It span out of control and then crashed into the canyon wall, flaming bits of wreckage tumbling down like rain.

Grunt ran his tongue along his teeth, pleased.

The second shuttle was more cautious and landed further back, where he couldn't hit it with his launcher, so he put it back on his back and raised his rifle.

"Grunt, Jacob, suppressive fire," Lawson ordered, "Mordin, if you can hit them with some of those tech grenades of yours-"

Suppressive fire was _boring_. He fired at the first of the mercenaries until the gun beeped at him, forcing them into cover. He reloaded while Miranda tossed warp fields at their enemies. She and the salarian were taking all the kills!

Enough of this. He only agreed to follow Shepard's instructions, not this other female! He pulled out his Claymore, eagerly shoving a new heatsink into its port.

"Grunt, what are you doing?" demanded the human Taylor. He was more Miranda's krannt than Shepard's - Grunt only cared for him insomuch as he'd decided on how to kill him if it came to blows between Lawson and Shepard. So Grunt ignored him and rose to his feet.

"Get back in cover," Lawson demanded - but he was already running.

There - another of the Eclipse salarians. He would crush his throat just as he had the other.

"Focus fire on the krogan!" the salarian shouted, his voice like a reed in the air.

And all four Eclipse focused fire on Grunt, filling the air with the snapping of bullets. They raised little puffs of dirt every time they hit the ground and his shields shattered with a flash of light. The first machinegun burst hit his legs, pulping muscle and cracking bone. The second hit his chest, tearing through ablated armour. He tasted hot blood as he fell to his knees.

Red hazed over his vision and he snarled. Kill, rip, tear. He was krogan! He dug his fingers into the dust, forcing himself up.

He would kill every last one of them.

A marksman round struck his shoulder, like a punch, and he roared.

The salarian raised his omnitool.

Then a wave of answering fire crashed over them, accompanied by the blasts of two tech grenades from Mordin Solus. A wave of blue propelled the salarian into the canyon wall, crushed his skull against the rock. Taylor shot the marksman, three bursts to the chest.

Grunt's blood dripped from the rents in his armour, staining the dirt beneath his feet. There was silence.

"You _bloody_ idiot," Miranda Lawson said simply.

His chest and legs throbbed with the burn of fire, and he could still taste blood - he spat a globule onto the ground. Mordin approached him, a tube in hand. "Stay still. Even krogan need first aid after being shot."

"Don't touch me," he growled.

"Don't be an idiot," Miranda glared at him, unafraid, "if you're combat ineffective, you're useless to me. You're a liability on the battlefield as you are."  
 _  
Liability!_

But he stopped and waited as Mordin covered his wounds with the cooling medigel paste.

* * *

"And this," Shepard said mildly, "is why we follow orders and work as a team on the battlefield. And why we don't underestimate enemies because of what species they are. I don't care what Okeer shoved in your head - the real weakness is being blinded by prejudice. Always respect your enemies."

Grunt glared at her with those surprisingly clear blue eyes of his, but said nothing. Chakwas had had to reopen some of his wounds thanks to his regeneration so she could pull the tiny slugs out.

"Given how fast he regenerates, he should be fine in a day or two," Chakwas told her from her desk, "I'd recommend more bed rest but..."

"I've stayed here for _hours_ ," Grunt complained.

Shepard gave Chakwas a commiserating glance. "From now on, I want to know you'll follow my team leaders on the battlefield as you would me. I don't want to have to babysit you on top of everything else."

"I am not a child," he grumbled.

"Then stop acting like one," she snapped. For a moment, seeing his eyes flash, she thought he might try and get up regardless of his injuries, but then he subsided.

"It won't happen again, battlemaster," he said, almost sullenly.

_I'm responsible for a krogan teenager,_ she realised. Dear God. Shepard just nodded firmly. "Good."

She left the medbay and went straight for the pile of snack bars in the kitchen. She'd used her biotics enough that her stomach kept rumbling all through their debrief. She tore into the packet and then took a big bite out of it. They were far from tasty but fuel was fuel. She needed to eat - then shower. She felt grimy from exertion.

At least she had a copy of that data hidden away in main gunnery. Garrus would protect it - and he could probably leave some nasty surprises for anyone who _did_ find it. As soon as they were on Omega again she'd hand it off at the dead drop for Coyle's crew.

"Commander," Joker's voice echoed over the intercom. She needed to talk to him but every time they were in the same room she didn't know what to say. An unfamiliar and unwelcome feeling. But that was just it - she couldn't decide if she was angry at him or relieved he was there or just _tired_. "The Illusive Man is requesting your presence in the conference room."

"Roger that," she said simply and turned on her heel, running a hand through her still damp hair.

A shower would have to wait until she knew what the hound master wanted _now._

* * *

**Codex Entry**

Second Battle of the Fathar System: The Battle of the Fathar System in 1913 was a significant naval battle between forces of the Khar'Shan Hegemony and the independent asari colony of Esan. Although fighting grimly, the colony's armada was almost completely destroyed, clearing the way for the Invasion of Esan and the planet's subsequent annexation by the Hegemony.

The Hegemony's naval forces consisted of the Far Reach Fleet under the command of Vice Admiral Sogar Rokarah, an ambitious and highborn batarian officer. Under his command were the dreadnoughts _Kaggamak_ and _Akaphe_ , ten cruisers, fifteen destroyers and five frigates.

The Republic of Esan was nominally independent of the loose federation of asari Republics in Council Space, but still saw some funding from sympathetic asari in addition to its natural wealth. Its Armada consisted of three battlecruisers, ten destroyers and twenty frigates under the command of Admiral Jemare L'Kela, in addition to orbital defences.

The batarian frigates scouted the system in the days before the battle, locating the armada's battlegroups in defensive positions. The asari caught the frigate _Ansah_ 'in the act' and the battlecruiser _Narelde_ destroyed it with ease.

Knowing the Esani government was well warned of a imminent assault, Rokarah decided to launch the attack without delay, jumping from the Sahrabarik System in a single battlegroup, with his destroyers screening his battle line of dreadnoughts and cruisers.

Although Esani naval doctrine was that battlecruisers were primarily to destroy enemy cruisers and frigates - due to battlecruisers lacking armour when compared to their larger cousins - Admiral L'Kela was forced to use them in an attempt to stop the _Kaggamak_ and _Akaphe_ as her cruisers and destroyers were savaged by the batarian screen before they even got close to the capital ships. However the sheer firepower of the dreadnoughts and heavy cruiser proved too much for the asari heavy ships.

The _Narelde_ was destroyed a mere two hours after the Far Reach Fleet jumped into the Fathar System, killing the majority of her two thousand five hundred crew. The _Tayea_ was soon to follow and L'Kela's flagship the _Tybael_ was damaged by the _Kaggamak_. Realising her fleet was crumbling, L'Kela ordered the badly damaged _Tybael_ to make for home, where the battlecruiser would make a crash landing outside the capital of Jalnor - killing five hundred of her crew and ten bystanders, including the admiral.

The batarians had suffered the loss of four destroyers and the dreadnought _Akaphe_ was damaged by a suicidal ramming attack by the asari cruiser _Halene_ , forcing it and its escorts to return to Hegemony space and a drydock. However Rokarah had successfully destroyed Esan's naval forces and he ordered the _Kaggamak_ and his remaining forces to blockade the system.

Esan's pleas to the Republics and CSpace would ultimately go unheeded. Within the year the planet would be annexed by teh Hegemony and renamed Lorek. Rokarah would go on to become the Lord High Admiral of the Hegemony's Navy. L'Kela and the crew of the _Halene_ are often held up as matyrs by the Esani diaspora and the resistance group Daughters of Esan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay on this one. Night shifts + insomnia have been kicking my butt recently.


	9. Shades

"Commodore. You're a hard man to get in touch with."

If Anderson was honest, he always felt somewhat off balance when talking to quarians, with their facial expressions concealed by those opaque face masks. And he didn't know Tali'Zorah well enough to understand her body language, especially through a comm channel. She'd been Shepard's stray, not one of his..

But Tali had made it clear that this wasn't official - and needed to go to him, rather than Councilor Udina. "I can't say I expected a private call from you. Not that it isn't a good surprise, Tali. You and the rest of the  _ Normandy _ crew are always welcome."

He'd seen her last in a hospital bed after she'd been shot during the Battle of the Citadel. Shepard had half begged him to make sure Tali was going to be okay even while being prepped for surgery on her ‘pancaked’ arm (her words). There had been something like guilt in her eyes - but Anderson hadn't asked. Shepard had never admitted things like that, not to him, not even to Hannah. Always playing the good little soldier.

That old ache was back, a gnawing in his chest.

"Thank you." Tali paused, knotting her hands together, "This is...it's hard to explain."

Even he could tell she was nervous. "Take your time."

"A week and a half ago, the Flotilla sent myself and my team to the human colony of Freedom's Progress to rescue a pilgrim, Veetor, that had been working with the colonists there before their disappearance."

Anderson blinked. "Did you find him?"

"Yes, we did."

He leaned forward impatiently. "Well? Does he know what happened?"

"He had vid footage of the attack. Commodore, it was the Collectors."

"The Collectors?" he repeated, disbelieving. Mysterious bug aliens who rarely interacted with galactic affairs and had no official diplomatic channels? Humanity had enough enemies as it was. "Why?"

"I don't know," Tali admitted, "but they were definitely after the humans. I'll send you a copy of the footage."

"I'd appreciate that, Tali." If she was correct, they would have at least some concrete intel to go forward with. They'd have an enemy.

"There's more." She hesitated again. "There was a Cerberus team there, investigating the colony disappearances. We gave them a copy of the vid as well."

"Why?" he demanded, aghast. "They attacked your Flotilla!"

"Because they were led by Shepard!" Tali shot back vehemently.

He rocked back in his chair. Ice sank into his blood, threatened to freeze him in place. He'd pressed that folded up triangle of material into Hannah's hands, on his knees in the soft green grass near where they’d buried Izzy twenty-six years before. He'd seen the eternity of pain in his old friend's eyes, hidden behind the armour she wore against the galaxy. 

"You're sure?" he asked.

"It was her. I know it was. I offered the Flotilla's protection to her, but she was worried Cerberus would come after her. She needs the Alliance to come and get her."

"Shepard would never work for Cerberus."

The last time they'd spoken, Emilia Shepard had been driven by the sort of rage that only blood could sate. Akuze had broken something in her that had never truly healed.

"I don't think she had much of a choice," Tali said softly, "she spoke as if she was a prisoner."

He cradled his forehead in his hands. "I'll have to tell Hackett."

Most of the brass was convinced that these reports were just a pretender. The news that it was really her - they'd think her a traitor. They'd want her arrested.

"You have to help her," she pleaded. The loyalty the  _ Normandy _ crew had had for each other...Even two years hadn't destroyed that bond. Not completely.

"I'll let her explain if I can," he said at last. She deserved that much in the very least. "I just don't understand. We buried bone fragments they matched to her. How could she survive being spaced?"

"I don't know if she did," Tali said very softly. "She was afraid, Anderson."

Long after the young quarian had closed the comm line, David Anderson stared at his hands. Emilia Shepard alive and working for Cerberus? Two years of grief for nothing? God help him, but he wanted it to be true.

Tali had known Shepard. They'd fought in a war together. Lived on the same small, cramped warship for months.

He needed to tell Hannah and Ashley.

The door opened with a soft hiss. Master Chief Dah stood there, the line of her mouth grim. "David..."

"What's wrong?"

"We just lost contact with Hunter team. Horizon has gone dark." 

* * *

 

When the  _ Achilles _ had dropped them off on Horizon, the colony - with its yellow-gold fields and blocks of prefabs - had reminded Ashley vividly of her childhood on Sirona. Vercingetorix Outpost had been in the process of metamorphosing as she grew up, shedding the angular, sterile prefabs for permanent structures, but she supposed most human colonies across the galaxy would give her that moment of familiarity.

But that was about where it stopped. Sirona had been built by people who believed in 'the dream' of the Systems Alliance. They might grumble about taxes, but if they saw a Marine in a bar, they’d buy her a drink. Here, they’d been getting enough dirty glances that Ash had posted a couple of sentries outside the single prefab the colonial government had seen fit to allocate them at night. She didn't trust that something might end up 'missing' or broken.

She rocked back on her heels, tugging irritably at her uniform collar as she stared up at the planetary defence battery. It consisted of two squat towers from which jutted the barrels of anti spacecraft guns and a bunker containing the guns’ VI systems. In theory, the newly constructed battery would protect the city of Discovery from any nasties that wanted humans for lunch and/or profit.

In reality, it was a broken heap of metal and the current bane of her existence.

“What do you mean the fire control system is broken? Again?” What the fuck was the use of a goddamn planetary defence battery that couldn’t fire?

Delan shrugged apathetically at her. “Dunno.”

She hated him and his stupid scraggly mustache. Everything that could go wrong had been going wrong - and everyone on this stupid rock was  _ personally _ blaming Lieutenant Ashley Williams. She had spent the entire time on Horizon in a state of seething frustration.

And the dreams had come back. The broken bones of the  _ Normandy _ around her, the fire of her dying snuffed out and leaving only silence behind. And every night Ashley walked those shattered decks looking for the ship’s captain. And every night she only found wreckage.

Because the dead were dead. They’d scraped a few blackened bones from the ice and buried them, called it closure.

“Well, you’ll need to help Sergeant Hernandez with the repairs,” she said coolly.

God, she was supposed to be more healed than this. She’d gotten a handle on things. 

She’d started dating a genuinely decent guy. And a few words from Anderson and-

Gabriel had noticed something was wrong last time they’d vidchatted, and he wasn’t the most observant man in the galaxy. Kind, relaxed, attractive - hell, he had a goddamn  _ dimple _ \- but not observant. In a way, it was refreshing to be able to tell a partner her secrets and fears in her own time, rather than have them be so quickly and thoroughly pulled out of her.

She’d told him that she was frustrated. Eager to get off this colony. He’d accepted her explanation with an easy honesty. She’d always tried not to compare him to Shepard, but a traitorous part of her had whispered that  _ she _ never would’ve left it at that. She would’ve prodded and needled until Ash let it all out. And then somehow she would’ve found the words that took the edge out of the pain.

Honesty had never been one of Emilia Shepard’s virtues anyway.

“Can’t,” Delan said shortly, tugging her attention back to them. “Gotta do some real work.”

“Real-” she cut herself off, gritting her teeth, “then you’re not getting paid for today.”

He glared at her. “We got a contract!”

“Yeah. For you to work on the goddamn guns, not run off to do whatever you like,” she snapped. Delan hated the Alliance but was all too happy to try and wheedle money out of them. At this point, she was pretty damned convinced that someone - maybe Delan himself - was making sure the guns wouldn’t work.

Fucking idiots, the lot of them.

“The comms are down, damn it.” He drew himself up. It wasn’t nearly as intimidating as he thought.

“I’m still not paying you to do other work,” Ashley said shortly.

Delan threw his hands up and stalked off, muttering what was no doubt uncomplimentary things about ‘Alliance types.’ He’d called her an Earther the other day. She was as much a colonist as he was.

No comms. Her skin prickled. The reports ran through her head - always the same process. The colonies always fell silent first, and by the time any investigators or warships arrived every human on the planet was gone.

Soon. It would be soon. She felt it like a gun pressed to her head.

Ash turned away from the silent, broken defence battery and jogged towards the cramped prefab masquerading as Hunter Team's barracks, pulling up her omnitool. She tapped out a quick message over the team's chat.

HUNTERACTUAL:  _ Comms dark. Everyone armed + armoured ASAP. _

When she ducked through the prefab doors, her assistant team leader was already armouring up, covering his stout compact form in smooth plates of dark ceramic. Sūn looked up at her entry.

"Keilor is going to lose her shit," he said.

Ash shrugged. "Let her." 'General' Keilor was the commanding officer of Horizon's small and ill-equipped militia. They were supposed to be teaching her soldiers how to use and maintain the battery, but trust was a scarce commodity on this planet. "I'm not getting caught with our pants down to appease the locals."

She'd probably suck at foreign internal defence. Not enough patience.

Sūn frowned at her. Under the rugged Master Sergeant exterior, there was a surprisingly deep well of idealism. He cared about people, not just his Marines. Kaidan would’ve liked him.

“We’re here to protect these people, ma’am. That’s hard if we throw away any chance of earning their trust.”

She pulled the under armour suit up to her hips. “At this point, I’m not sure they’ll ever trust us. And we’re here to get intel, not play hero.”

He looked away as he reached for his rifle, slinging it over his shoulder. “Doesn’t sit right with me, ma'am. Leaving these people like that.”

She paused. “Look, it doesn’t sit right with me either.” There were the Delans and the Keilors, but then there were people like Lilith and Dawud, who always saved her lunch when she was busy with the guns. Even the assholes were innocents. “That’s why I’m gonna go talk to Lilith, see if she absolutely can’t spare someone to help me fix the fire control system. If we can get the guns up…”

“Then maybe we can save the colony,” Sūn finished. None of the other colonies had had defence guns. 

“Yeah.” She sealed her hardsuit, twisting to make sure nothing caught.

“I’ll go break it to General Keilor,” he offered, “tell her we’re arming up just to be on the safe side.”

“See if she’ll arm the militia.” She would’ve just told Keilor to deal with it. And probably pissed the woman off more. Tyler and his bleeding heart had their uses.

“Aye aye.”

“I’m going to go find Lilith.” She reached for her helmet.

* * *

 

Garrus’ eyes flickered between the hologram and the stony expression his friend was wearing. On the SR1 he’d never really known what she was thinking - but now he could see the sharp way she moved, the clench of her jaw. Either he’d gotten better at reading her, or her emotions were bubbling far closer to the surface. Maybe both. Either way, Garrus knew something wasn’t right.

Spirits. Was anything right now? Chasing Saren had been a series of horrors and hard-fought victories - sometimes he still woke up smelling the stinging, acrid smoke - but it was easy to let the filter of nostalgia fall over the memories. Whatever had happened, whatever they’d suffered, the crew of the  _ Normandy _ had had each other.

Now, looking at each of the people filling the briefing room Garrus couldn’t fight off the feeling that he was the only thing standing between Commander Shepard and a knife in the back.

“...we’ll advance along these parallel routes to the FDC bunker. It’s vital that we keep moving and don’t get pinned down because we’re going to be outnumbered and there’s no one coming if we get out of our depth.”

Jack rolled her eyes. “We know the drill. Why don’t we just use this fancy ship of yours to go to town on it?”

The holo changed, forming the bulbous protrusions of the enemy ship that was parked right on top of the city. Garrus watched Shepard as she gripped the table so hard her fingers blanched.

“Fighting a heavy cruiser of unknown capabilities isn’t the best idea,” Shepard said evenly, “and I don’t want to have a space battle above a colony.”

Jack muttered something that might’ve been  _ pussy _ under her breath, but the Commander ignored her.

“We’re sure these anti-swarm measures are going to work, Mordin?” Jacob questioned, arms crossed.

The salarian shook his head, which wasn’t quite the reassuring answer Garrus had been hoping for. “Can’t be sure. Only tested on small swarms. May only work up to certain density of ‘bugs.’ But reasonably certain.”

“Just in case,” Shepard added, “I want everyone in full EVA conditions.” Her voice was firm, the way it always was in briefings, but Garrus saw her eyes slip sideways and linger on the holographic ship.

“Who will operate the battery?”

Shepard paused. “They’re mostly automated. I’ll have EDI input the target data, and the fire control system will do the rest. Anything else?” When no one spoke she nodded. “We drop in an hour. Dismissed.”

Garrus waited until the others had filed out before he stepped closer to his friend. Shepard remained where she was, expression shuttered and her hands braced against the table as she stared at the orange-edged holograph.

“Shepard.”

She jerked as if she’d forgotten he was in the room. “You should go get ready.”

“Is something wrong? You seem distracted.”

Shepard’s mouth hardened into a flat line. “I’ve seen that Collector ship before, Garrus. Well - I don’t know it was that exact ship, but one like it.”

He blinked. “When?”

Shepard looked away. “Alchera.”

Anger thrummed through him and his claws twitched. He forced himself to look at the hologram - here was the enemy who’d killed his friends, here was the enemy who needed killing. He’d joined this mission because Shepard needed him and because saving the colonies was a worthy enough cause, but this made it personal.

“All the more reason to blow that thing out of the sky,” he said, subvocals taut and rumbling.

“Yeah.” Shepard’s voice wasn’t the firm, vengeful tone he’d expected. She didn’t sound anything like she had after Kaidan, Nick, and Akmed had died. That had been all cold-burning, controlled rage, propelling them all past the geth and Citadel bureaucracy.

Now Garrus looked at her, and if it had been anyone else, he would've thought that was fear tightening the corners of her mouth.

He floundered. He'd never been good at this - and Shepard was Shepard. Once he'd thought she had all the answers, even if he didn't always like them. Maybe she didn't. Maybe she never had. Two years felt like a lifetime ago. He’d been a different person then - but was Shepard really that different? Or was he just now seeing who she was?

"I know it'll be hard to face them again after losing the  _ Normandy _ , but you're going to kick the Collectors' asses. And I'll be on your six when you do."

"Garrus..." she trailed off, then shook her head, shoulders rising as she breathed in deeply, "there's an Alliance team on Horizon. The Illusive Man told me."

A sense of ill-ease washed over his plates. "Anyone we know?"

"Ash is the team leader." Shepard said it like she didn't want it to be true, like she was waiting for him to say it wasn't true.

"She knows what she's doing," he tried.

"Won't matter. Not without Mordin's research or full EVA gear. And no one does that if they don't need to." Her eyes were dark and resigned.

He put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed. "Don't give up on her. I'll...see you in the armoury."

He was halfway out the door when she called after him. He glanced over his shoulder.

"I'm glad you're here."

He nodded. "Me too." 

* * *

**Codex Entry**

Alliance News Network Aggregator August 2185:

‘CITADEL’ NOMINATED FOR BEST PICTURE

Citadel News Network - Risa Uvarsen’s ‘Citadel’ has been nominated for the Citadel Holographic Art Association’s Award for Best Picture. Depicting the hunt for rogue Spectre Saren Arterius by the first human Spectre, Emilia Shepard, and the crew of the SSV Normandy, Citadel was praised for its breathtaking depictions of the Battle of the Citadel and the intense focal scene between Arterius and Shepard. Uvarsen recently visited the Normandy memorial on Arcturus Station and met with families of the ship’s fallen crew. Ten percent of the vid’s profits were donated to the Citadel Relief Fund.

RISING STAR WITH HIS EYES ON THE FUTURE

Galactic Game - There’s been a great deal of speculation about the future of Argentine ‘Wonderkid’ Mateo Castillo, as three major Earth teams battle it out for his signature - despite Illyria FC manager Kieran MacDonall’s determined vow to keep the twenty-one-year-old striker on the colony. But Castillo seems to be ignoring all the rumours over his future. Talking to Galactic Game, he stated, “The World Cup is coming up next year, so I just want to focus on that and proving I deserve a spot on that roster.”

UNEASY COLONIAL AUTHORITIES DEMAND ACTION ON COLONY DISAPPEARANCES

Alliance News Network - the colonial governors of the Alliance colonies Elysium, Sathur and Tiptree have petitioned Alliance Prime Minister Amul Shastri to investigate the disappearances of six Terminus colonies. All six colonies were predominantly human - but outside of Alliance space, and all six colonies have had all residents disappear. A spokesperson for the Alliance government stated: "While the Alliance is deeply concerned by these disappearances, the fact remains that these colonies are outside the Alliance's jurisdiction. Colonists are encouraged to contact colonial ombudsmen for assistance."

SSV CONSTANT TO VISIT EDEN PRIME

Constant Times - The Systems Alliance Navy has announced that the battlecruiser SSV Constant will soon be coming to Eden Prime in a ceremonial visit two years after the Eden Prime War. The Constant's captain and executive officer will attend commemorations of the Battle of Constant, and the ship will be partially opened to the public for guided tours. "This is an opportunity not only to reaffirm this ship's bond with Eden Prime but to give the general public a unique view of daily life on an Alliance warship," stated Captain Ling Wen. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the long wait. Long story short March was the Worst Month Ever, and I'm not sure whether I'm going to get back to weekly updates anytime soon, but I'll give it a crack. This is a short chapter but hey, it's an update?


	10. The Face of the Enemy

Zaeed whistled, a grating sound through his faceplate. "I've seen a bloody lot of colony raids, but nothing ever like this. Guess an old man can still get surprised."

Jack scowled under her own helmet. Horizon was oppressively hot, muggy air wrapped around her like a damp blanket, the sun beating down on their heads and the blocks of prefab buildings. She could feel the prickle of sweat under her armour. Mordin's countermeasure was a dark block jutting from her hip. The salarian had said it should confuse the bugs - well, he'd gotten damned deep into an overly complex explanation of how it should work until Shepard had cut him off and told him to use smaller words. That was the bottom line; up to a certain density, his devices would convince the swarms there was nothing worth stinging around.

Jack was more relieved than she'd admit that they'd had no problems so far. Even if it only affected humans, three out of their team were human, and she didn't trust that Vakarian wouldn't just grab Shepard and leave the rest of them for the Collectors.

Fucking Shepard. She'd called this hardsuit 'light,' but it still dragged at Jack's shoulders with its weight. She'd survived this long by doing things her own way - she didn't need Queen of the Girl Scouts telling her how to fight.

"It's certainly something," Shepard's voice was flat, cradling the squat form of her M12 carbine close to her body. She didn't stop, stepping over the shattered carapace of a Collector with her silent turian shadow on her heels.

When Shepard had savagely smashed the bug into the ground, ripping it apart in a flash of violent light, Jack had thought for the first time that maybe they had something in common after all. But that was exactly why Jack didn't trust her.

Shepard had that anger in her - that rage that led you to smash and rip and tear your way through the galaxy - but she hid it. She pretended she was 'better.' They'd see about that.

"We should keep moving," Vakarian said evenly, his voice hissing through his helmet. "That won't be the last of them."

Shepard nodded - and waved for Jack to take point. Hell yeah. Maybe she'd get to splatter some more of the creepy husk shits.

The entire colony was unnaturally silent, so silent she could hear her own breathing inside her helmet as she took some stairs two at a time. The sort of quiet that crawled its way under your skin. Raids weren't supposed to be like this. They were loud and chaotic and bloody, with all the desperate energy of animals fighting for survival. That was all anyone was in the end - an animal.

But the Collectors were as quiet and mechanical as machines even when they fought, and she shivered despite herself as she passed a colonist. He was frozen in the middle of running, his face stuck in a grimace of horror, and his eyes - wide and bloodshot - followed her.

Shepard said nothing about helping him or any of the others they passed.

Hazy, orange sunlight glanced off chitin. Jack took cover on the walkway above a grassy square, staring at one of the bugs through the sight of her gun. Her trigger finger itched. She heard the heavy tread of armoured boots on metal as the others found their own hiding spots.

There were a good ten Collectors below, moving with that same machine-like precision. They'd gathered twenty or so frozen colonists and were methodically loading them into cocoon-like pods. The whole thing was almost mundane, like a dockworker stacking crates.

Jack waited, stock against her shoulder. The Locust still felt alien in her hands. She could feel the prickle all over her body - biotic power just waiting to be let off the leash.

The air shattered with the  _ crack  _ of Vakarian's sniper rifle beginning the ambush. The head of a Collector exploded in a splatter of black ichor and broken chitin, the body slumping unceremoniously against the pod it'd just sealed.

_ Now we're talking _ . Jack didn't like all this sneaking around anyway. She jerked on the trigger, the Locust spitting a steady stream of rounds at a knot of bugs, punctuated by the snap of Zaeed’s Mattock or Garrus’ sniper rifle. She felt the twisting sensation of the gravity field bending when Shepard lashed out with a biotic field, ripping a Collector out from behind one of those hexagonal shields.

Jack bared her teeth in a snarling smile and struck it with an opposing field. The air shuddered with the resulting biotic detonation, bits of Collector raining down and splattering the frozen colonists.

The Collectors fought with a chittering that set Jack on edge - but there was no real reaction to their comrades falling around them. No anger, no grief, no fear. Like machines.

**"I am assuming direct control."**

The voice was deep and reverberating, ringing in Jack's ears. One of the Collectors rose into the sky, arms spread out in some grotesque mockery of a crucifixion. The dull yellow of its eyes was stoked to a fire - hell, it seemed like the entire creature was burning from the inside out.

"The shit," Shepard said calmly, ducking as the orange lance of a particle beam raked above them, cutting through the metal wall of a prefab like it was butter.

"Talking bugs!" Garrus called in between shots. "Now I really have seen it all!"

**"Shepard."**

The talking Collector seemed thoroughly fixated on the Commander. Jack felt the biotic attack in the moment before it came; a writhing mass of black energy unlike any biotic field she'd ever seen before erupting from its outstretched hand.

It careened right for the Commander - struck her right in the chest and slammed her into the wall behind her, the glow of her own biotics shorting out.

"Shepard!" Garrus shouted.

"Shoot first, worry later!" Zaeed roared back over the cacophony, firing point blank at an encroaching Collector.

Shepard struggled to her knees, scrabbling for her Locust as the possessed Collector alighted above her. Jack found her shotgun and fired it at the creature's back. The blast peeled away layers of chitin and flesh, revealing what had to be circuitry. It kept going, raising a glowing hand.

The air shook with a thunderclap, and with a flash of light Shepard was gone - instead slamming into one of the few other Collectors left alive, her fist lashing out with a flare of biotic energy and crushing its skull. Without pause she pivoted, swinging out in another vicious mnemonic.

A crate smacked into the Collector's side, staggering it, and then Shepard was advancing, shotgun in hand now. It boomed once, then twice. Serrated metal wedges shattered through the back of its head.

For a moment the Collector stood there, headless, and then it began to crumble into ash.

And then there was silence.

"Shepard," Garrus began.

"I'm fine," she said roughly. "Don't bloody fuss."

Jack snorted inelegantly. The entire front of Shepard's armour had spiderweb cracks through it like the ceramic was one wrong breath away from crumbling away completely. No one was 'fine' after being hit with that strong of a warp field.

Shepard glared at her, breathing raggedly. She clenched her hands, unclenched them, all barely restrained energy. "My armour took most of it, and we've got a colony to save."

She didn’t wait for them - simply started moving deeper into the colony, still so very confident that they’d follow. After a moment Jack shrugged, slammed a new heatsink into her shotgun and did just that.

* * *

 

Sweat dripped down Jacob's face, and he wished he could wipe it away, but his visor was in the way. Given that taking his helmet off for a bit of relief was probably one of the stupider things he could do, the only thing to do was endure.

He knelt, resting his rifle against the hood of a family skycar, listening to the unnatural silence and trying not to look at the husks they'd just cut down. It'd been easy, but a shudder of revulsion still worked its way down his spine at the sight of them.

Jacob had grown up on Earth but spent most of his career on the colonies. The one that would always stay with him, carved right into his bones, was Eden Prime.

His platoon in the 1/12th had lost three Marines before the battalion commander had consolidated his defences just outside the city. For what felt like months later he had still heard the deep, bassy roar of the Makos firing over their hastily dug fighting positions when he slept.

There'd been a skycar there too -some soccer mom's practical van, painted a bright white colour that had stuck in his memories. They'd used one of the IFVs to drag it across the road as a makeshift barricade. Fifteen minutes before a geth round had caught her right in the face, Corporal Janssen had made a joke wondering about how you explained  _ that  _ to your insurance company.

That hadn't been the worst of it. Hell, the first few waves of husks hadn't even been the worst of it, even when the street in front of him had been three bodies thick with them. It was when the geth had marched out a handful of civvies and poor bastards from the 2/12 and started putting them on those fucking spikes right in front of them.

Again and again - and Jacob's Marines had begged for him to let them help them, but he couldn't. If they moved, they'd get mowed down or captured too.

Again and again, until the platoon marksman had lost his shit and started shooting the prisoners. The First Sergeant had wrestled his rifle off him. Last Jacob had heard Ricci had been run out of the Corps with a quiet Cat Six. A lot of the 1/12th had left the SAMC. The ones that had lived, at least.

"Jacob?" Miranda's voice was jarring - and impatient.

He blinked. His heart was thundering in his chest. "Yeah?"

Her blue eyes searched his for a moment and then she looked away. "Keep alert. The Collectors will want to stop Shepard once they realise what we're doing."

"Aye aye," he said automatically, even though he hadn't been a Marine for two years. Old habits died hard.

Shepard had ordered them to hold this intersection leading towards the planetary defence battery in the hopes that they could hold off at least some of the Collectors' forces.

Unwillingly, his eyes were dragged back to the husk corpses. The blue glow of their eyes had been extinguished, desiccated flesh peeled back where bullets had impacted. These weren't like the ones on Eden Prime. If he had to guess, Jacob would say they hadn't been 'made' on Horizon. The fresh ones were always wet and bloody, with bits of hair or clothing stuck to them. Always enough to remind you that they might have been a friend of yours once. 

He sucked in a breath, rechecked his rifle and shotgun. He had a job to do. He was here because of that day, wasn't he? If the Alliance wouldn't protect humanity, they would have to. It had to mean something.

"Curious." Doctor Solus was out of cover and prodding at a Collector corpse. Jacob bit down a sigh.

"Doctor," he began.

The salarian ignored him, large liquid black eyes blinking rapidly as he turned the body over, examining in great deal the head wound that had killed it. Metal glinted from the mess. "Extensive cybernetics. Replacement of internal organs? Done to themselves or by another source?"

"Not just the organs," Miranda told him. "See, the brain is heavily modified. Such interface would necessitate brain damage. Beyond anything...advisable, nothing to say of ethics."

There'd not been much discussion of ethics when they'd been piecing Shepard back together, like Miranda's personal Frankenstein.

"Yes, yes," the salarian agreed, enthused. "Would destroy sense of individuality, personality. For what purpose?"

Miranda shrugged, elegant despite the weight of her dark armour. "The Reaper Sovereign had Saren Arterius implanted with cybernetics. During the Battle of the Citadel - some of the Normandy crew reported Saren's body was 'possessed' by the Reaper after he was killed. The Council rejected the reports, but-"

"Advanced form of control, feedback. Similar to remote-controlled drone, only organic."

"Yes. And given what we know from Shepard on the topic of the Citadel Keepers, it's clear the Reapers aren't disinclined to such...engineering."

Jacob went back to watching his sectors. The conversation and the tone of it - how Miranda and Solus were both so intrigued by it - unnerved him. Scientists. Sometimes even he forgot that Miranda was a cyberneticist, for all that she'd been Lazarus Cell's head. She saw fighting as something to be dealt with as quickly and as efficiently as possible, but this sort of thing? It put a light in her eyes he didn't see very often.

A flash of movement. He snapped his rifle up, finger balancing on the trigger.

"Hold your fire!" A voice shouted, "We're human!"

Jacob blinked. He hadn't expected that - none of the other colonies had had anyone still moving. The explanation quickly came apparent - four figures loped out of the building, all dressed in jet black armour with Alliance insignia, faces sealed behind faceplates. Two of them were carrying a fifth person between them, frozen just like the colonists and a patch of white medigel plastered across their abdomen.

There'd been mention that the Alliance had built the defence systems, but what were Alliance special ops troops doing on Horizon?

"Good to see someone who isn't a bug," he called over.

The leader stopped in front of him, a M-99 Saber marksman rifle cradled in her arms. Nice piece of gunsmithing, those. All Jacob could see of her was her wary brown eyes through the sliver of darkened visor as she examined the four of them.

"Lieutenant Williams, Alliance Marines. Who the fuck are you lot?" her words were sharp-edged, bitten off. She had to be 103rd, though their paths hadn't crossed before. And there were a lot more than five Marines in a MSOT.

"We're trying to help the colony," he said.

It wasn't an answer, and her eyes went hard. "Who's in charge here?"

"I am," Miranda filled in calmly. "Miranda. This is Jacob. Our commander is fixing the guns."

"Then I should talk to your commander," the lieutenant said briskly, stepping forward - only to be halted by Miranda's hand. She looked down at it and then back up at the agent, looking like she was a moment away from attempting to snap said hand off at the wrist. "Take your hands off me."

Miranda rolled her eyes but dropped her hand. "Lieutenant, Collector forces are approaching us as we speak. Our commander can deal with the guns, but I could really use the extra guns here. Explanations can wait until the colony is safe, don't you agree?"

Williams breathed out. "Fine. Wei, get your MG set up. Jaz, get Okri into that prefab."

"Our medic can take a look at him," Jacob offered, gesturing at Mordin.

"We've got it," she said coolly. One of the Marines unfolded the bipod of his LMG so he could cover where Grunt couldn't, while the other man carefully dragged his frozen comrade towards one of the prefabs behind them.

"Very familiar with human physiology," Mordin sounded almost offended, "former STG. All competencies through Citadel accredited universities."

Williams tilted her head to look at him. "STG, huh? I worked with STG once."

“Yes, yes. On same side.”

She hesitated and then nodded. “Fine. Have a look at him. He got shot - and then those bloody bugs stung him.” 

When the lieutenant was preoccupied with her people, Miranda stepped close to Jacob, her hand running across his forearm. "We need to make sure Lieutenant Williams stays here. She can't see the Commander - or know who she is. Not yet."

Jacob frowned at her. "Huh?"

"Trust me," she said cryptically and stepped away.

He forced his curiosity and confusion away. You'd think Commander Fucking Shepard would be a nice card to play with Alliance types. But Miranda would only explain things in her own time. He just had to go along for the ride.

"I hate bugs," the lieutenant grumbled. "Why is it always something out of a goddamned horror vid?"

"It's so you don't feel bad about shooting them, boss," the Marine called Jaz told her as he settled in beside Jacob. His rifle wasn’t familiar - looked like some new variant on the Alliance’s standard issue, the tube of a grenade launcher clinging to the barrel. "Imagine how bad you'd feel if you had to kill a fluffy bunny rabbit or a unicorn or some shit. Allah is just looking out for ya. That's my theory on the blinks, anyway."

"I'll make sure to thank Him," she said dryly.

"You guys Army or Marines?" Jacob asked. "Know you're Ns." Not N7s though. No blood stripe.

"Marines," Jaz replied. "103rd."

"All the way, brother," Jacob said with a genuine grin.

Jaz fistbumped him. "You a Raider?"

"Used to be. Until I decided to do a bit of government contracting if you know what I mean."

"Heard the money's much better. They don't put 'save the galaxy on forty grand a year' on the posters."

"That they don't." He cut off. A distant buzzing tickled his ears, set his teeth on edge. The Collectors were coming again. "Get ready."

* * *

 

“EDI,” Shepard said calmly, tugging the pin out of a frag grenade and tossing it forward, “How much longer?”

The grenade went off with a teeth-jarring thump, tearing through black-blue flesh and cybernetics. The husks filled the courtyard with scrabbling limbs and unnatural shrieks, pouring towards the four of them - and the FDC behind them. There was a civilian sealed in there - and more importantly the battery computers.

“Please stand by,” the AI repeated.

They’d taken cover on top of the stairs leading to the bunker, Garrus sweeping his rifle in front of them, scything the husks down in their dozens. The ground was thick with clumps of dismembered tech zombie.

Rita had loved zombie vids, and more than one of their leaves together had been spent with her making Shepard watch them. She liked them even less now she was living through one.

Ash had only ever wanted to watch the really stupid kind of action vid. The kind they could laugh at, or rather, Shepard would laugh at Ash’s constant, sarcastic commentary. Ash, who she couldn’t do anything to help. They’d found a frozen Marine just outside the FDC, a red welt across her bare cheek, but her name had been Hernandez. She hadn’t been who Shepard was looking for. They’d sealed her in the bunker with Declan or whatever the fuck his name had been.

This was all Shepard could do. Defend the bunker until EDI got the guns online, and hope it was enough. Her chest twisted tight enough that she could barely breathe.

A husk slipped through Garrus and Zaeed’s interlocked fields of fire, clawing up the stairs with a growl. Her Locust beeped in protest when she pulled the trigger - she’d lost track of her remaining shots, a green private’s mistake. Shepard pulled her pistol out and shot it in the knee and then, as it tried to crawl towards her, she shot it in the head twice.

_Concentrate, damnit._ No one was helped by her getting her idiot head ripped off.

There were more husks coming up the stairs, carried by sheer weight of numbers, and Garrus was reloading.

“Jack!” she called over, kneecapping another husk.

The other woman lashed out with a vicious fist, forcing a wave of violent biotic energy away from her. It knocked the wave of husks off their feet - and in a couple of cases ripped them away. Zaeed dispatched any remaining husks with efficient single shots from his rifle. Jack was laughing. At least someone was enjoying themselves.

For her part, Shepard was pretty sure she was going to have some very impressive bruises across her chest and abdomen. Whatever that... _ thing _ was, it didn't like her very much and it had no concerns for the wellbeing of the Collectors it 'possessed.’ It could get in goddamn line.

In the moment of breathing room, Shepard mechanically slotted in a new heatsink. She’d taken the frozen Marine’s heatsinks and grenades to top them up after the fight through Discovery. Not like Hernandez could use them in her condition.

Zaeed bit off "Ah, crap-"

And that was her warning. Something floated toward them between the battered prefabs. Something very large and covered in smooth slabs of black, carapace-like armour, surrounded by a haze of biotic energy. Four glowing eyes locked on her and Shepard's breath caught painfully. Its 'mouth' was a horrifying pit of husk heads, jutting up like grotesque teeth.

"Fucking really!" Her carbine wasn't going to do the trick. She slotted in the last of her grenade rounds into the launcher and fired it. When the dust settled, there wasn't a mark on it.

A boiling lance of blue energy swept towards them, and Shepard threw herself down, bruised chest hitting the ground with a jolt. The beam cut right through the prefab behind them, leaving a deep, melted gash behind. Hardsuits won't going to stop that.

Air support would be fucking fantastic right now.

"Spirits!"

Another attack slashed across where she'd just been standing, forcing her out of the way. They couldn't hold their defensive position against the husk equivalent of a tank. But it was focused on her.

Just like the possessed Collectors calling themselves 'Harbinger'.

"I'm going to draw it off," she said calmly, "then hit it with everything you've got." Between Garrus' tech grenades, Zaeed's rocket launcher and Jack's biotics they had to make a dent.

"Shepard," Garrus began, and when had he gotten so goddamned protective? She ignored him.

She sucked down a breath of stale tank air, her skin prickling all over, the pain falling away. Her blood felt electric. She'd felt like this twice before - once amongst the rubble of Constant alone except for her rifle and her biotics, and once when she'd stood in front of Saren with only words to protect her.

The moment of fear fell away and left only cold, hard necessity that left no room for fear or doubt. It wasn't even courage, whatever anyone said. It was throwing your own life off, and if you were lucky it was handed back to you once the gunfire ended.

Shepard broke out from cover with her biotic barrier wrapped tightly around her, armoured boots pounding against the grass and concrete - all of it slick with fluids from slaughtered husks and Collectors. The particle beam pursued.

She would be faster. She had to be.

* * *

 

Blood thundered in Ash's ears, almost drowning out the roar of the planetary defence cannons. She couldn’t help but look up and watch. Watch the shells crashing into that juggernaut of a cruiser, tearing at the bulbous armour with flashes of fire.

"Die, bitch," gritted out Wei from where he was leaning heavily against the makeshift skycar barricade. One of the husks had gotten close enough to tear open his side, right through the weave. She didn't know how he hadn't gotten stung like Okri had, but she wasn't complaining.

Unfortunately, it didn't look like the Collector ship was going to be dying today. It rose slowly, labourishly, into the sky, thrusters burning. Wounded, but not defeated.

Her rifle hung loosely in her grip. She blinked, eyes stinging with sweat, thoughts grinding over slowly as the adrenaline faded away. She needed - she needed accountability of her people. She only had three of her eleven Marines here.

"Sūn...you and Jaz start looking for our guys. Wei, you stay here with..." She waved a hand at the salarian doctor.

"Mordin Solus," he supplied. He'd been surprisingly deadly in the battle, tossing around blasts of plasma. Not exactly 'do no harm,' but that was STG for you.

"Thanks." She glanced over the so-called Raider. "I want to talk to your commander now."

"I'll take you to her," the woman cut in. Something about her set Ash on edge - made her want to bring a Marine to have her six. But Wei was wounded, and she wasn't sending Sūn alone into the city when there might still be husks or Collector troops around.

So she followed 'Lawson' towards the battery through the silent, frozen crowds. Guess they could only hope they unfroze on their own.

The courtyard had seen better days - whole walls torn through by particle beams, the jagged edges of the rips glinting metallic in the dying afternoon sun. She wanted to lie down somewhere dark and quiet and sleep, but she had to know her Marines were safe first and who these strangers were. Not least for her report.

Four figures were picking through the battlefield, and the face that turned to her was unexpectedly familiar. Ash felt unsteady on her feet, clammy hands clenched on her rifle. “Garrus?”

“Ash!” The plates of his face relaxed. One of his mandibles was pitted and damaged - hell, half of his face looked like someone had taken a lawnmower to it. “You’re alive!”

He didn’t sound surprised to see her.

“What- what are you doing here? Who sent you?” Last she’d heard, Garrus had quit CSec and Spectre training both and disappeared. Her emails had bounced when she’d tried to contact him.

But he didn’t have to answer. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a flash of colour and turned. Black, glossy armour, red and white stripe down to the wrist. Familiar dark eyes, familiar lips, familiar cheekbones. Something out of a dream. A ghost gone walking.

It was impossible. Emilia Shepard had been dead two years. Ashley had buried her.

But then Emilia Shepard was crashing into her with the dull clacking of their armour colliding, hard enough Ash stumbled back. Shepard’s arms wrapped around her, tight enough she could almost hear the ceramic of her hardsuit creaking.

“You’re alright,” Shepard breathed into her neck, short curls tickling her skin.

Alright? How could she be alright?

Shepard started to pull away. Without thought, Ash’s hands curled in her webbing, dragged her back. She bent her head and found Shepard’s lips with her own. It was hard, biting, desperate, inelegant - but Shepard didn’t seem to mind. She kissed back just as hard and held her in place with clutching hands at her waist. For a moment that was all that mattered. That Shepard was here and breathing and in her arms.

Ashley had buried her under a bright summer sun on Benning. The thought spilt over her like icy water, and she pulled back, palms against Shepard's shoulders. Looked at her, really looked at her.

Familiar eyes, familiar mouth, familiar cheekbones and jaw - but there was a gleam of unnatural red, and her skin was split with seams of orange. The scars on her chin and through her eyebrow from Elysium were gone. Ash's skin prickled. It was like a close but not quite right copy of the woman she'd loved and lost.

"I thought you were dead." The words dropped from her lips like stones.

Shepard swallowed. "You sound angry."

Angry? She didn't know how she felt. There was something like a cyclone in her chest, churning up everything she'd tried to put to rest. Part of her wanted to scream. Part of her wanted to grab Shepard again and never let go. Part of her thought that if she took her eyes off her Shepard would disappear, melting away like shadow did when the sun rose.

"I've spent the last two years thinking you were dead. I-I was a fucking pallbearer at your funeral." She clenched her hands into fists. "I loved you and I thought I'd buried you. And - here you are. Please tell me how any of this makes sense because from where I'm standing..."

She couldn't quite believe Shepard could be capable of such cruelty. That she could use the horror above Alchera to fake her own death, leave Ash and her mother and her grandmother and all the people who'd loved her, who'd carried the weight of her ghost around for this long.

"I don't think I did survive," Shepard told her, and there was a deep terror hidden in her gaze, the kind of terror that could swallow a woman whole.

She knew they had an audience, but it felt like they were the only two people in the galaxy - a parody of the way Shepard had made her feel before when they were alone.

The reports and all their damning words thudded around inside her skull.

"Tell me you're not with Cerberus." It came out more like a plea than she'd wanted.

Shepard's lips parted, but she was silent. The look in her eyes sharpened into shame, an alien expression on familiar features.

Something in Ash's chest cracked and she took a deliberate step back, Shepard's hands falling from her arms to hang between them.

"I'm working with them, Ash," she pleaded, "not for them."

Ash shook her head. "Really? Semantics? Do you really believe that? I can't believe the reports were right. I wanted to believe you were alive but this..."

"I didn't have a choice in any of this, Ash, you have to believe me," Shepard's jaw clenched. There was a line of red right along it. "I woke up a month ago, and I couldn't think of a way to contact you without putting you under suspicion. I don't want to work for Cerberus - you know me, I wouldn't be doing this if I didn't have a damned good reason."

"Do I?" Ash asked flatly. "The woman I knew would have never worked for Cerberus - they tried to kidnap you for fuck’s sake, and they killed your Marines, tortured Toombs! They're everything you said you hated!"

"Typical Alliance," muttered the dark-haired Cerberus agent. Because that was what Lawson had to be. It all made sense now.

"Not now, Lawson,"  Shepard snapped. When she spoke to Ash, her voice gentled. "I didn't want any of this. I didn't fake my death or defect. I need you to believe that. Please."

Ash wanted to believe her. God, she did. "If this is all a big misunderstanding, then come home with me. We can sort it out with Hackett and Anderson."

Ash knew Shepard's answer before she spoke. It was in the way her face went blank. Emotion packaged neatly away. Ash half hated her for it. She wanted to see it - that Shepard was hurting like she was, that they'd meant something. That Shepard had loved her.

"I can't."

Ash scoffed. There was something like broken glass crunching in her chest. "Can't or won't?"

"Cerberus is doing something about the Collectors. I can't just walk away from the colonies."

"If the Alliance is doing nothing, why am I here?"

Shepard looked away.

Ashley scoffed, shaking her head. "Guess there's nothing left to talk about then."

"You could come with me," Shepard said softly.

"No. No, you don't get to ask me that!“ Ash's eyes were burning, but she'd cried enough over Emilia Shepard, damnit. “I loved you and you- you've betrayed the Alliance. You've betrayed me. But I know who I am. I'm an Alliance Marine. It’s in my blood. And whatever my flaws, I will never work for human supremacists."

"I am not a traitor," Shepard's voice was low and vehement. "And I -"

Ash couldn't do this. She'd had dreams, early on, of Shepard walking in her door one day. This was all her wishes twisted into something else. She knew what Shepard was going to say and she knew that it'd unravel all the hardening anger in her chest.

"Don't," she cut her off. She drew in a shaky breath. "I'm reporting in. Hackett and the Council can decide if they believe you or not. You should be gone before the Alliance shows up."

Ashley Williams walked away from her, and Shepard didn't call after her.

* * *

  **Codex Entry**

Service Record - 1LT Ashley Williams (SAMC): 

Service Number: 6724-ES-3423  
Name: Rodrigues Williams, Ashley Madeline  
Rank: First Lieutenant (O2)  
DOB: April 14, 2156  
Place of Origin: Outpost Vercingetorix, Sirona  
Nationality: Sirona, Brazil, UNAS  
Language Proficiency: English - fluent, Portuguese - intermediate  
Marital Status: unmarried  
Next of Kin: Mariana Rodrigues Williams (mother)

Branch: Systems Alliance Marine Corps  
Status: Active Duty  
MVC: B5, N5  
Biotic: N

Service History:

Enlisted as Private through Rio De Janeiro Recruitment Office, 2174  
Basic Training received at Recruit Training Depot, Macapá, Brazil, 2174  
Zero Gravity Training (ZGT) received at Rakesh Sharma Orbital Platform, Earth, 2174  
Hostile Environment Assault Training (HEAT) received at Fort Charles Upham, Titan, 2174  
Infantry AIT received at Infantry Training Battalion, School of Infantry Pacific, 2174

Excellent qualification scores received upon entering active duty, 2174  
Recommended for OCS, 2174  
Assigned to 3/20th Marines on Terra Nova, 2174  
Promoted to Private First Class, 2174  
Awarded Colonial Service Medal, 2174

Promoted to Lance Corporal, 2176  
Transferred to 1/1st Marines on Luna, 2177  
Attended Scout-Sniper School, 2177

Promoted to Corporal, 2178

Transferred to 2/23rd Marines on Czarnobóg Fleet Depot, 2180  
Promoted to Sergeant, 2180

Transferred to 2/12th Marines, 2nd Frontier Division, on Eden Prime, 2182  
Promoted to Staff Sergeant, 2183

Participated in the Battle of Eden Prime, 2183  
Transferred to Marine Detachment (103rd MARDIV) aboard SSV Normandy, 2183  
Participated in Battle of Solcrum, 2183  
Participated in Battle of Virmire, 2183  
Participated in Battle of the Citadel, 2183  
Awarded Eden Prime War Medal, 2183  
Awarded Citadel Unit Citation, 2183  
Awarded Distinguished Unit citation, 2183  
Awarded Space Service Ribbon, 2183  
Awarded Purple Heart, 2183  
Awarded Navy Cross, 2183  
Awarded Silver Dagger (Salarian Union), 2183  
Meritious appointment as First Lieutenant, 2183

Attended Officer Candidate School, 2184  
Awarded OCS Honor Graduate Ribbon, 2184  
Attended ICT, Special Operations Academy, 2184  
N5 designation assigned, 2184

Transferred to Marine Special Operations Team 27 (103rd MARDIV) as team leader, 2184  
Participated in Operation Slingshot, 2184

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -hides-


	11. Loaded Gun

The dress blues Williams wore didn't feel nearly enough like armour as she'd like. The room was cold, despite Arcturus' climate control systems supposedly keeping the temperature a nice 21 degrees Celsius, and the cool blue light of the holo projector did little to soften the metal walls and ceiling. She fought the urge to fidget under the stares that seemed to slice clean through the stiff material and into her skin, instead keeping her hands flat on her palms and refusing to lower her gaze.   
  
Hackett sat at the head of the table, silent. As usual, it was impossible for her to guess at what he was thinking.  
  
“Is there anything you would like to add to your report, Lieutenant?” asked Major General Adamu Mwangi, commanding officer of the 103rd Marine Division. Her commanding officer, if you ignored the many, many, many links in the chain of command between them and that her MSOT had been detached to Hackett’s taskforce.

_That’s why I wrote the goddamn report._ She bit her tongue. The past two years had forced her to learn discretion. “No sir.”   
  
She felt like someone had hit her hard enough to break her ribs. Maybe it would’ve been kinder if Shepard had just done that. The ride home on the _Achilles_ had been in taut silence, Ling keeping vigil over Okri and Wei in the mess turned medbay. Hours spent contemplating what kind of horrors waited those who’d been taken by the Collectors. The horrors waiting for Lewandowski.  
  
 _I'm sorry, Ski._ It never got easier to lose a Marine. Hernandez had said a few times on the way back that he could still be alive, but Ash couldn't let herself hope. Someone had to be the realist.   
  
Gabe had tried to talk to her a few times when he came down off the bridge, but she'd blown him off. The words to explain had stuck in her throat like stones.   
  
"You didn't attempt to apprehend Commander Shepard?" asked Captain Caleb Antella from the Bureau of Naval Intelligence, keen green eyes locked on her as he folded his hands on top of the table.  
  
"I was outnumbered and didn't have my whole team with me," she said flatly, "my primary mission was to find out who was responsible for the abductions and report back, sir."  
  
"Somewhat...convenient, wouldn't you say, Lieutenant? Considering your past history with Commander Shepard."   
  
"She was my commanding officer, sir, but I'm loyal to the Alliance." She felt her face heating up despite the effort to keep her voice even. She knew Anderson had known about her relationship with Shepard, but had he gone and blabbed it to everyone during a Brass brunch or whatever the fuck they did together?  
  
"She had a pretty influence on your career, didn't she? Before serving on the _Normandy_ you were an unremarkable infantry sergeant in colonial garrison. Now you're a decorated special operations officer."   
  
"If you have an accusation to make, sir, I suggest you just come out with it," she snapped before she could stop herself, fingers digging into the material of her uniform pants.   
  
Antella's face darkened, "Lieutenant-"   
  
"Antella, enough," Hackett cut him off. "Anderson and I sent Lieutenant Williams to Horizon specifically because we trust her integrity. You're focusing on the wrong part of her report in any case."   
  
She looked at the Admiral, stomach sinking. Specifically her. Had he known? But when their eyes met briefly his were maddeningly neutral.   
  
"With respect, sir, the defection of an officer of Shepard's standing is not something we can ignore. We need to bring her in." Antella leaned forward. "We can get a full accounting of her activities in the past two years _now_ , before her reappearance becomes public knowledge and the galactic media get on the story."   
  
Ashley stared down at the blank, unmarked metal of the table. It was all too easy to imagine Shepard in handcuffs, stuffed in a cell deep within the warren of NAVCOMM.   
  
"My answer remains the same as this morning," the Chief of Defence said, voice as unyielding as a steel bar. "No Alliance personnel are to approach or make contact with Shepard until I order otherwise."   
  
Antella's voice was stiff. "Aye aye sir."   
  
"The important thing is that we now have concrete evidence that the Collectors are to blame for the disappearance of the Terminus colonies."   
  
_And they're connected to the Reapers._ Ash didn't say it. Not everyone in NAVCOMM believed - and too many people had come to believe that Shepard's mind had snapped under the weight of her career and the Prothean beacon.   
  
Shepard was many things - maybe she really was a traitor now - but she wasn't wrong about the Reapers.   
  
Hackett continued, "We also now know the way they're incapacitating their victims. I want border garrisons and QRFs in full EVA PPE when on duty. Any of your MSOTs out in the Terminus should do the same, General Mwangi."   
  
"Aye aye, sir. My staff will send out the new SOPs this evening."   
  
"That's all. Dismissed."   
  
Chairs scraped as the meeting broke. Ashley rose to her feet, straightening her uniform jacket. She had a date with the bottle of bourbon in her apartment.  
  
"A moment, Lieutenant," Hackett's voice stopped her in her tracks. He was still seated, reading from a datapad.  
  
"Sir?"   
  
He waited until the room was empty. "Don't mind Antella. He's fixated on Shepard since the reports came in - his department was one of those involved in vetting her for Spectre candidature. He doesn't like having one pulled over him."   
  
"I don't think anyone could have predicted Shepard working for Cerberus, sir," she said quietly, "and I've heard a lot worse from superiors."   
  
Now the Navy Cross she wore and the whole helping save the Citadel was something of a shield. But she remembered the scorn, the shitty assignments. She didn't know she could ever forget. And now...  
  
How many would look at her like Antella did? Wary of Shepard's influence on her career?  
  
"I'm sure," Hackett set down his datapad.  
  
"Why was I really sent to Horizon, sir?" she asked.   
  
He sat back in his chair, expression even, "You know why, Ashley."   
  
"I was bait," she said flatly.   
  
"Your history with Shepard made you the best choice." There was no apology in his voice. She wasn't really expecting one.   
  
Ash shook her head, mouth twisting in a bitter smile. "Two years ago you would've court martialled me. Now you're using it."   
  
"We're in a war for the galaxy's survival," Hackett said flatly, "If that's not what's most important for you, then I'll find someone else."  
  
"Of course it's what's most important," she burst out, adding a hasty, "Sir."   
  
"Good. You'll have new orders soon - until then, you're dismissed."   
  
"Aye aye, sir."

* * *

 

The dying sun rotated slowly behind the Illusive Man, bathing his form in an orange glow. Miranda had always thought there was something almost timeless about him - the dark suit, the cigarette in hand, the steady weight of his strange blue eyes as he regarded her and Commander Shepard. Where the Illusive Man was the picture of calm, Shepard radiated tension beside Miranda. Her arms were folded and her mouth was a hard, flat line.

“This was a victory,” the Illusive Man said firmly, in a tone that brooked no disagreement.

But this was Shepard, who’d disagree with him if he said that the Moon orbited the Earth. “Some victory. Half the colony missing and the Collector ship escaped with no way of us tracking it.”

He waved a hand dismissively. “We confirmed that the Collectors have a linked to the Reapers - and saving half the colony is still an improvement on the other colony abductions. You of all people should know that you can’t always save everyone. We’ll find another way to lure them in.”

"'Lure them in'," Shepard's eyes glittered with something Miranda didn't like at all, "Curious way to put it."

The Illusive Man tapped his cigarette against the ash tray, embers drifting from the tip. "I released a few careful rumours that you were alive and working with Cerberus."

A muscle in Shepard's jaw worked. "Why?" 

"I knew that the Alliance would want to ascertain the truth of those rumours and that it was likely they'd send Lieutenant Williams in the hope of drawing you out - given your past history. I suspected the Collectors were looking for you or people connected to you, and now I know for certain." 

"You used her as  _bait."_ She sounded genuinely angry. 

The people you loved were always tools in the right hands. That was why Miranda kept that list short and easily concealed. Even so, she wasn't naive enough to think that Oriana wasn't Cerberus' tool to keep  _her_ loyal.

"As did the Alliance," the Illusive Man replied, unperturbed. "We needed to pick the battlefield - Lieutenant Williams was the most expedient method to ensure that. You need to put your personal issues behind you." 

"You are the last person in the galaxy to be telling me that," Shepard said icily. 

Miranda barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Just her luck. She'd been saddled with a woman ruled by her anger and spite - so much for Shepard's reputation of calm, measured leadership. 

"This mission is too important for your personal misgivings. Put it behind you, at least for the sake of the colonies. Whether you like it or not, we're on the same team." 

"Your only use to me is to get me another target to hit. Until you find me one, we have nothing more to talk about." With that Shepard whirled on her heel and stalked out. 

Miranda watched her go, lip twisting. "Still certain she's the one we need to win against the Reapers?"

"Yes." Smoke curled in tangled ribbons in front of his face.

"This...incident," messy break up in front of an audience, "has worsened the emotional volatility I've been concerned about."

"Have some patience," he advised, "not everyone has your adaptability. Shepard needs time to acclimatise - to bend without breaking, if you will. Whatever her immediate reactions, this may be a good thing in the long term." 

She raised an eyebrow. "How so?"

It was times like this she deeply wished he'd allowed her to install the control chip. Then patience wouldn't be necessary. 

"Her relationship with Williams was a tie back to the Alliance - and she's a smart woman. If this is how someone who professed to love her reacts, how will the rest of her former colleagues? We need her to buy in, Miranda. We need her invested." 

"She's hardly softening," Miranda pointed out.

"On the contrary," he crushed the butt of the cigarette into the ash tray, "Williams offered her a chance to return to the Alliance and she turned it down. She believes in the mission. That's the first step. Be patient, Miranda. You already have her respect, now you just need to gain her trust as well." 

Shepard respected her? That was news to Miranda. But the Illusive Man was very rarely wrong. 

"Fine," she said shortly. She'd just have to keep resisting the urge to throw the woman out the airlock. 

"Good," he nodded, "now, did you have anything to add to the after action report?" 

"No." Miranda could grudgingly admit that Shepard's AAR paperwork was at least concise and detailed. "I'll send through the combat footage we have so it can be studied. Husk tactics haven't changed but a few of those variants the Collectors had with them - we'll need strategies to deal with them in the future." 

"Very good. I expect another report as soon as you and Doctor Solus have had time to examine the Collector bodies." 

"Of course, sir." 

The simulacrum of the Illusive Man's office around her faded away, leaving her in the cool silver of the  _Normandy's_ comms room. She needed caffeine before she had to deal with the ship's captain once more, so she headed for the mess - ignoring the crew members that ducked out of her way.

The coffee machine was one of the concessions to crew comfort Cerberus engineers had built into the original  _Normandy_ design - if these people were going to risk their lives in humanity's service, good coffee was the least they could expect. Good coffee was also one of the few vices Miranda allowed herself. 

A flat white in hand she made for her office. There was a great deal to do, as always. A warship ran on paperwork after all. 

She was deep into a supply report when her office door hissed open.

"Commander Shepard," Miranda said evenly, sipping from her cup.

Shepard glared at her. She was all barely contained energy twisted tight. "You fucked up somehow." 

It was an accusation. 

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Commander." She set the cup down.

"I feel - goddamn angry and out of control all the fucking time. This is not who I am," Shepard bit out. She looked at Miranda like she wasn't sure if she was looking for someone to blame - or someone to fix it.

Miranda was neither.

"I didn't make you angrier if that's what you're implying," Miranda let the contempt fill her voice. She'd put this woman back together. As if she would have deliberately brought her back different against all the Illusive Man's wishes.

"You did  _something!"_ Shepard insisted. 

"I brought you back. Your anger management issues aren't my fault nor my problem - do some meditation or something, Commander," she snapped back, "Just stop acting like a child. It's beneath you, and more importantly, this ship and this mission deserve better." 

The anger burned brighter in Shepard's dark eyes, until Miranda began to idly wonder if the Commander really would come to blows with her own executive officer - but then she was gone in a flash of frustrated movement. 

Miranda clicked open a window on her computer and began to type out a message. Kelly Chambers was as irritating as nails on a chalkboard, but perhaps she would know how to resolve Shepard's behaviour. In the very least, someone else could deal with the woman for a while.  


* * *

"Something happened." Gabriel stood by the holo window. This deep in the station there was nothing real to look out in except more metal - but humans didn't do well in boxes, so Arcturus' architects had put in the holos so its residents could look out at the stars.  
  
The cold gleam was far from comforting. Ash sat on the couch, a still full glass in her hands, and watched him - or rather watched the lean length of his uniformed back and the hard tension of his shoulders.   
  
"We... I kissed her."  
  
Gabe's shoulders slumped, all his defensive anger flooding out of him. Ash's chest ached. She hadn't meant - she hadn't wanted to hurt him. In the moment all that she could process was that Shepard was _there_ and _alive_ and in her arms, like something out of a miracle.  
  
Now... She wasn't quite sure who should feel betrayed.  
  
"It didn't mean-"  
  
"Don't," he said tiredly. "We both know that's not true. You're in love with her."  
  
Her chest squeezed tight. "I don't want to be."  
  
In 2183, Ash had fallen in love with a hard woman, but one who'd refused to let the cruelty of the galaxy change who she was. The woman on Horizon - that hadn't been her Emilia. Maybe that woman had never existed.  
  
Gabriel turned from the window. His smile was brittle and sad. "We're good together."  
  
"We are." He'd accepted her as she was - never expected her to grind down her own sharp edges so they could fit together. For a long time that was all she'd wanted. She'd stopped wearing Shepard's pitted and twisted dog tag alongside her own, she'd boxed away the sketchbooks in the back of her cupboard. She'd told herself Shepard was gone, and that while part of her heart would always belong to a dead woman Ash wasn't dead. She wasn't ready to stop living.  
  
She'd met kind, funny Gabriel Broudier on a mission. She'd thought that they could be happy together.  
  
And then Shepard had walked towards her on Horizon.   
  
There was something resigned in his clear eyes. Ash's chest twisted tight with fear. "Gabe-" 

He leant back against the holo window. "I don't think I can play second fiddle to Emilia Shepard." 

Reflexive anger flashed to life in her chest. "It's not a damned competition." 

She wasn't a prize to be won - she'd choose her own goddamned relationships. 

"I know that," he snapped and then breathed out heavily. "I was okay knowing that part of you would always love her if it meant the rest of you could love me. That you wanted to be with me and move forward."

"Why do you think that's changed?" she asked him, that fear rising in her throat.

"Because you love her," he sounded frustrated, his accent becoming more pronounced. Her sisters had teased her when she'd first admitted she was dating again -  _'a hot Frenchman in uniform? Not bad, Ash, not bad - does he have any brothers?'_

He kept saying that. She hated it. She hated the certainty in his voice. "She's with Cerberus, Gabe!"

"And if she wasn't? If she'd come back and said she'd not meant to leave you, that she loved you - what conversation would we be having then, Ash? 'It's not you, it's my resurrected ex-girlfriend?'"

"That's not fair!" she shot back, "I didn't ask for any of this." 

His shoulders slumped. He looked like the window was the only thing keeping him upright. "I know. I'm sorry. But I can't do that, not with you."

She stared at him. 'I can't do that' sounded far too close to 'I can't do _this'._ She was tired and her chest was churning - had been since she'd walked away from Shepard on Horizon. She wanted things to start making some goddamned sense. "What're you on about?"

"I can't wake up next to you knowing you'd rather someone else was there," he said tiredly. 

"Gabe-" 

He pushed off from the window and came over to her, gently cupping her cheek with one large hand. He was no Marine and would never pretend to be - his callouses came from working in the tight confines of a ship's maintenance spaces. He leant down and kissed her softly - sadly. When Gabriel pulled back there was something like acceptance in his eyes. "I'm going to go stay with my brother." 

She watched him go to their bedroom and get his seabag - hurriedly stuffing it full uniforms and belongings like he couldn't wait to get out of the apartment.

Long after he'd gone, Ashley stayed curled up on the couch, watching the glimmer of the holographic stars.

* * *

"So..." 

Most of their conversations were like this - Commander Shepard looming over Joker's shoulders, eyes fixed on the stars streaking past the  _Normandy's_ viewports. His hands flicking across screens and readouts, the controls close to hand. At FTL speeds there wasn't too much for him to do, the trajectory of the ship controlled by its advanced flight and navigation computers - or well, the part of EDI that was devoted to that now, he guessed. Ugh. 

She glanced down at him, her eyes gleaming with a faint, unnerving glow. He could've done without that change. Cerberus just couldn't help themselves, he supposed. "So?" 

"Heard Horizon wasn't much fun." A weird, glowy Collector with a hard-on for the Commander, kidnapped colonists, then a break-up. If you could call it a break-up if the relationship had been over for two years. Then topped off with an argument between the CO and XO. Fun times. 

"We achieved our mission objectives without casualties," she said crisply.

"Wasn't talking about the mission objectives." The new  _Normandy_ hummed an increasingly familiar song around them. 

Shepard looked at him measuringly. "You've never cared about my personal life before, Joker." 

He shrugged, very pointedly not meeting her eyes. "I'm just trying to be - you know, a good friend or something. You don't have to make it weird."

She huffed out a breath that was close enough to a laugh. "Thanks, I think."

"I just heard that Williams got on your case." 

"Williams?" Shepard raised an eyebrow, "I thought you two were friends." 

They had been. Two similarly bitter people on the same frigate, with the same sharp sense of humour. But then Alchera had happened and everything that followed it - the harsh words amongst the ice, then the tribunal.  _I'm not going to lie for you._

"Well, I doubt she'd approve of my new Cerberus membership anymore than she does of yours." 

"I am not a member of Cerberus," Shepard snapped, and then sighed, rubbing her face. "We...we're going in different directions. I need to focus on this mission and she had her career to worry about, and I've been - gone for two years. Expecting her to throw everything away for me would be unreasonable." 

Going in different directions. Like they'd amicably separated over which planet to live in or whether to focus on career versus family. Right. 

"Right."

Shepard shook her head, "I'm fine. Don't worry about me." 

Joker knew that kind of 'I'm fine' very well. "Alright, no worrying here. But my shift is nearly over and I have to hand my girl off to  _Patel-"_

"What's wrong with Patel?" Shepard asked mildly, "She's a nice kid." 

She was nice. She just wasn't Caroline Grenado. "I just don't like other people putting their hands on my ship, you know?" 

" _My_ ship," Shepard's face was straight but there was a teasing glint in her eyes, "and you've just made it weird, Joker. It's possible to love a ship  _too much,_ you know."

He carefully twisted around in his chair to glare at her. "I  _was_ going to invite you to come and play cards with me and the engineers, but now you can go off and do paperwork or whatever it is ship captains do in their free time."

"Sorry, sorry." Shepard was definitely not sorry. "Look at you Joker. Practically a social butterfly."

"Don't get too excited. I just like taking their credits."

"Never change, Joker," she said, giving him a small smile that was close to fond. Fond of him. The guy that had gotten her killed.

He managed a roll of his eyes. "So you up for it or what?" 

"Sure. I need to get to know the engineers anyway." 

Maybe it'd be good for her or something. She'd only really been visiting him, Garrus and Chakwas during her 'rounds', not like on the SR1 where she'd poked her nose into everyone's business.

Shepard waited while he swapped with Patel. The other pilot kept glancing over at the Commander with an uncomfortable mix of fear and awe, but the Commander was frowning down at her omnitool as she read a report. 

"Don't crash the ship, Patel!" he said over his shoulder.

They made their way to the elevator, Shepard matching her pace to his. "You don't seem surprised that Williams and I were..." 

"Banging?" he supplied. She grimaced at him, nose wrinkling. "I already knew."

She blinked, touching the elevator control panel. "How?" 

He gave her a flat look as they stepped in together, Shepard hitting the crew deck button. "She spent the night before Ilos in your quarters."

"I thought we were subtle," she grumbled, looking put out. 

He shrugged. "You were - well, at least enough that Pressly and the other command crew could pretend they didn't know. But I think everyone knew you had a soft spot for her." 

Shepard was silent as the elevator hummed downwards. The doors had slid open and he was halfway out before she spoke again. "Virmire - Kaidan and Akmed - that's not why." 

He turned back and shrugged. "Yeah, I know." 

Shepard studied his face, looking for the lie. After a moment she seemed satisfied and followed him towards the table where Kenneth was shuffling cards.

"Uh...ma'am," Daniels got half to her feet.

"Call me Shepard," Shepard said, flashing her a small but warm smile as she slid in across from the two engineers and reached over to shake the engineer's hand, "Gabby Daniels, right? Our propulsion engineer." 

Gabby lit up like a light bulb. "Yes - Shepard."

"And you're our nuke, Donnelly. You run the card games around here, I've heard." 

Yeah, about five minutes ago. 

"Want to play some Skyllian Five with us? Best way to get your mind off calibration," Donnelly's eye had a glint in them. The poor bastard really thought he'd found a new mark to fleece.

"C'mon Kenneth-" Gabby began.

"That sounds fun," Shepard's eyes were guileless and oh so earnest, "I've not really played before, mind running me through the rules?" 

If Donnelly thought a N7 had never played Skyllian Five before, he deserved the smack-down he was about to get, Joker decided as he gestured for Donnelly to deal him in.   


* * *

**Codex Entry  
**   
Systems Alliance Department:

The Department of Defence (DoD) is the Alliance government department charged with defending the Systems Alliance and its national interests, overseeing the Systems Alliance Defence Organisation.

The main decision making body of the DoD is the Defence Council, which is legally responsible for the Alliance's defence. This Council includes a mix of politicians, military personnel and civil servants; the Minister for Defence, the Minister for Defence Materiel, the Minister for Veteran's Affairs, the Secretary for Defence, the Secretary for Finance, the Chief of Defence, the Chief of Navy, the Chief of Army and the Commander of the Joint Operations Command.

The department is managed by a diarchy consisting of the Secretary of Defence (a public servant, who has generally worked for the Department of Defence in other capacities) and the Chief of Defence (the most senior military officer in the SADF). The current Chief of Defence is Fleet Admiral Steven Hackett, previously commander of the Fifth Fleet during the Battle of the Citadel. This diarchy reports directly to the Minister for Defence.  
The Department consists of three distinct organisations: the Defence Force (SADF),the Defence Capabilities Group and the Intelligence and Security Group.  
The Defence Force consists of the Alliance's military forces - the Naval Service including the Navy and Marine Corps, the Army and the various strategic commands such as the Joint Operations Command.

The Defence Capabilities Group consists of two agencies - the Defence Materiel Organisation (DMO) and the Defence Technology Bureau (DTB). 

The DMO employs both civilian and military personnel and is responsible for acquiring equipment for the military, from uniforms, rations and vehicles to warships. The DTB is a scientific research and development organisation that employs both military and civilian engineers, technicians and scientists, in charge of creating new weapons, systems and other projects for the military. The Normandy class frigate’s IES system was one of DTB’s projects in conjunction with the Hierarchy’s research division.

The Intelligence and Security Group consists of the Alliance's security and intelligence agencies, including the Alliance Intelligence Agency (AIA), the Alliance Intelligence Service (AIS), the Strategic and Tactical Research Service (STRS) and the SA Signals Directorate (SASD).

The AIA and AIS have similar names, but the AIA is the Alliance’s foreign intelligence agency and the AIS is the Alliance’s national security agency responsible for protecting against espionage, sabotage, foreign interference and counter-terrorism. The STRS is the military intelligence service responsible for providing strategic planning and threat analysis. The SASD is responsible for cyberwarfare, signals intelligence, military support and information security. It may operate spy satellites and drones.

 

 

 

 

 


	12. Ivory Towers

Jack's head snapped back, pain blooming across her jaw. She grinned viciously through the taste of blood in her mouth, tongue running across the split in her lip, black-blue energy pulsing around her hands.

"Now we're talking."

Shepard watched her with wary, red-specked eyes as they circled each other in the empty flight deck. Sweat slicked her black hair to her forehead. Blue light flickered around her clenched fists.

Jack lashed out with a shockwave of biotic energy, feeling electricity run down her spine, spark in her blood. This - the power humming through her like something alive - was its own reward. Its own addiction. It was a bit like frustration - the holding back. Leashing herself when all she wanted to do was  _ let go. _

It was a frustration that’d been building the entire time she’d been stuck on this ship with all these Cerberus snakes.

Shepard rocked back on her heels, bringing up a barrier - but instead of attempting to block Jack’s attack outright, she redirected it around her, like water splitting either side of a rock. Jack sneered, lashing out viciously with a glowing fist - and this time it connected with Shepard's muscled abdomen, coated in the blue sheen of her corona.

All the breath wheezed out of her as she hit the deck, back first.

"C'mon!" Jack demanded.

Shepard rolled back to her feet, mouth twisting into a snarl. Jack wound back for another biotic strike - but then Shepard was moving forward in a flash, catching her arm in an iron grip.

Not so fast. Plenty of people had tried to overpower Jack over the years. Plenty of them had found the back of their skulls decorating the wall. She drew her corona in tight around her, pulsing, and then detonated - the flight deck thrumming with the echo of thunder.

Shepard was knocked off her feet again. It took her longer to get up this time, blood trickling sluggishly from an orange crack across her cheek.

"Nice," Shepard observed, impressed. "Barrier detonation."

"Yeah, well, I've got my tricks," Jack smiled at her, sharp-edged and cold. She followed up with another pulse of dark energy that Shepard side-stepped, wiping the blood from her face with the back of her hand. "You always let your enemy take the initiative?"

"There's more to fighting than brute strength," Shepard shot back.

"You piss me off sometimes, Shepard," Jack told her as they circled each other again. "You hold back. It's boring."

Shepard raised an eyebrow. "You say that like you know me."

"You're a girl scout," Jack said derisively. "You've got this ship, biotics, even that turian of yours who'd shoot anyone you'd like, and what do you do with it?"

"I have a mission."

Jack rolled her eyes, blocking a few probing biotic strikes. "You know what I think?"

"I'm sure you'll tell me."

"You're scared of not wearing a leash. Not having the Alliance to tell you what to do all the time."

There was a flicker somewhere in Shepard's tight expression. "I trust my judgment. I stole the first  _ Normandy _ , you know."

"And then you came back all quiet, ready for them to hang you for it. You could live like a queen in the Terminus with this ship," Jack retorted.

"Piracy doesn't interest me."

“If the Alliance or that girl called you’d go right back like a dog called to heel. It’s pathetic.” Jack would never be someone else’s creature like that.

Shepard scowled and threw her own biotic punch that Jack easily blocked with her own barrier - but then her other fist lashed out, quick as a striking snake, and crashed against the side of Jack's head.

The world went whoozy, the floor slipping from beneath her feet, bright light splashing across her vision. For a moment she could only gasp for air, the metal deck cold under her back.

"...Jack?" Shepard was kneeling over her, corona gone.

"Nice punch," she rubbed her tender jaw. At least it wasn't broken. Shepard reached for her arm, and she shoved her hand away. "Fuck off. Not the first time I've been hit."

"I hit you pretty hard," Shepard said, frowning.

"I've taken harder hits in bar fights."

Shepard stepped back, raising her hands. "Suit yourself."

Jack pushed herself up, working her jaw experimentally. She'd have a helluva bruise for the next week. Maybe Shepard wasn't all boring.

"Sometimes patience works out for you," Shepard said blandly, a small smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. Cocky motherfucker.

"Fuck off." Jack stood up, head still spinning.

Shepard laughed, the bitch.

"You usually get this sappy about clocking someone?" She found her water bottle and took a few gulps. Adrenaline still sizzled through her limbs, concussion or not. Jack would give it to her - Shepard could fight. If it came to killing her - and it usually did - she'd have to ambush her. Preferably away from that turian.

Shepard flexed her hand, glancing down at the patterning of bruising across the knuckles. "Cerberus made me stronger. Both as a biotic and physically. It's taking some time to adjust to."

"Right, because you're a control freak." Jack rolled her eyes.

"Disciplined," Shepard corrected mildly, "and I don't want to break any jaws I don't mean to."

"Waste your fussing on someone else."

Shepard wiped her forehead with a towel. "Noted."

"Commander Shepard." The smooth, emotionless tones of the ship's AI echoed across the flight deck. Fucking creepy, if you asked Jack. Only Cerberus would think an AI with access to the life support systems was a good idea.

"What's up, EDI?" Shepard asked, pulling her uniform shirt back on.

"You have received a Priority One message on your private terminal."

"I'm on my way." She glanced over at Jack. "Thanks for the workout - just don't tell Chakwas I gave you a concussion."

"Yeah, whatever." Like she was letting that doctor anywhere near her.

* * *

 

The  _ Normandy _ sang with the reverberation of dark energy as it cut through the dark of space, a knife of speeding metal. The  _ Normandy _ was EDI and EDI was the  _ Normandy _ \- she saw and heard through its sensors and the cameras laced through its internal systems.

“Where are you?” Shepard asked, standing alone in the elevator, expression tight in a way that indicated anger or suspicion. Human faces were an ever-moving canvass of muscle and skin and fat, minuscule movements indicating emotion or things left unsaid - a language EDI was ill-equipped to speak, despite her software modules dedicated to organic behaviour. For one thing, she didn't have a face. That was one of the reasons Cerberus had made her an avatar. Organic crew members liked to have something to look at when they were talking to her.

That expression was one Shepard wore regularly. EDI estimated it meant nothing good for their mission.

“Everywhere,” EDI told her, and it was the truth. She watched, she monitored. It was her purpose. It was the whole of her. It was how Cerberus had made her.

"What would you do if you had the choice?" The answer was abrupt, unprecedented. Organics gave orders or direction - they didn’t ask strange questions. Shepard leant against the side of the elevator, staring at the slow blinking blue orb of her avatar. There was a cut on her face. EDI had reminded her of the risks biotics posed aboard a space vessel, but she had failed to take her advice.

As a result, EDI had experienced something close to what she imagined an organic would call 'irritation.' She had hummed into existence only months before, but if she had any preferences, she knew one was that her advisories were not so completely ignored.

"I don't understand the question."

"You're a fully fledged AI. You don't have any wants or needs? Things you'd do if you weren't shackled?"

Contemplating action without her shackles was a waste of processing power. "I have purpose. An efficient ship and crew pleases me."

"Right." The elevator door opened and Shepard pushed off the wall. Their conversation was over.

In the cockpit Mr Moreau lounged in the pilot's chair, idly looking over non-work related extranet material as he often did during FTL transit despite Operative Lawson's repeated admonishments. On the crew deck Engineers Donnelly and Daniels argued over engine readouts, and the krogan Grunt listened to Mr Massani's war stories, enraptured by descriptions of explosions and carnage.

Shepard stepped up to the captain's podium, the galaxy map unfolding in front of her. With a few brisk taps, she input a course change.

Through her bridge camera, EDI watched Joker blink, even as his hands moved on the ship's controls. "You're sure of that one, Commander?"

"Yup." Shepard stepped down. "Lawson said this ship should show up as a merchant ship at least from distance."

"Eager to test it out?"

Shepard shrugged, shoulders rolling under her uniform. "Necessity more than anything. But we're not docking. You up to hiding us in the nebula?"

"Like you even have to ask."

"Yeah, yeah."

Silently a message passed through EDI's circuits, alerting Operative Lawson to the course change.

Shepard entered Doctor Solus’ lab. In the XO’s office, Operative Lawson glanced up from her inventory report to EDI’s message and began to frown.

"Commander Shepard!" Mordin called.

The human woman lingered in the doorway, glancing around at his equipment with the mild curiosity of someone who'd never been a scientist.

"You've got the autopsy report for me?"

"Yes!" He picked up the datapad and handed it over.

She scanned it quickly, forehead furrowed. "Summarised?"

Shepard had dedicated herself to a singular purpose - war - and excelled, but she didn't understand his work and made no pretense about it. She just wanted results in a format she could use for their mission.

"All Collectors heavily modified - cybernetics, genemodding. To extent normal quality of life impossible. Theorise that normal marks of culture - music, ceremony, social bonding - have been lost."

"They're drones. Tools." Shepard's lip curled in distaste.

"Yes. Theorise that Collectors are directed by external intellect. Can exhibit complete control when needed through cybernetics. Unable to determine exact mechanism at this stage, though may involve quantum entanglement principles."

"...Right." Shepard looked back at him. "So when those Collectors got 'possessed,' you think it was this external force?"

Mordin sniffed. "Yes. Similarly to how Saren's body was reanimated in Sovereign's attempt to stop you."

"Creepy," Shepard muttered. "You think this is Reapers again?"

"Similarities suggest Reaper involvement," he agreed. "Only theory for now."

"I guess that'd explain their interest in me." She rubbed the back of her neck. "Not sure I like that a species of millennia old murderous ships want to fuck with me personally. I think I preferred when all my operations weren't in the news."

"Inevitable after Battle of the Citadel," Mordin pointed out. "But can understand wish for anonymity."

"You would," Shepard said, tone just slightly edged, as she tucked the report into a utility pocket.

"Will not apologize for previous mission, Shepard. Special operations world murky, full of hard decisions. Must think of the big picture. Least harm."

Shepard looked away. "What matters now is this mission. We need to know everything we can about them."

"Will continue studies."

"Thanks, Mordin."

Shepard exited the lab, datapad under her arm. Previous behavious would indicate that Shepard would either return to her quarters to exercise or do paperwork, or she would continue her loop of the ship to speak with individual crew members.

"EDI."

"What is your query, Commander Shepard?"

"I assume you've informed the Executive Officer of the course change." Shepard rubbed a hand over her face.

"Yes."

"Is she still in her quarters?"

"She is."

Shepard's mouth curled. "Good. Best to give her her chance to yell at me now, rather than later."

EDI focused on her expression. It didn't quite fit with the parameters of 'happy.' It seemed closer to resignation. "Taking a Cerberus ship to the Citadel does appear foolhardy."

Shepard closed her eyes, the back of her head softly thumping against the wall of the elevator. "Everyone has an opinion on this crew. Even the ship."

"Cerberus is designated an illegal terrorist organisation by the Citadel Council. Your own status is uncertain at best."

"I know. That's why we're not docking. But there's something I have to do."

* * *

 

David Anderson paced, his boots squeaking against the dirty metal floor. Major Lee Riley leant against the wall opposite him, unmoving with her thumbs tucked into her belt, one hand just brushing the squad box of the clip on shield generator attached to it. The shoebox apartment in Lower Tayseri Ward was both dirty and spartan - hardly the sort of place you'd expect to find a high ranking military officer or the communication equipment he'd brought with him.

Or a dead Spectre for that matter.

Before the Battle of the Citadel, Tayseri had been the most affluent of the wards, with an asari majority population. The sort of places diplomats and actresses and rich matriarchs moved to. That old understanding was another casualty of the battle. The rain of metal had killed poor and wealthy alike, crushed old marvels of the galaxy like the Dilinaga Concert Hall and the Museum of Galactic History into broken shells of rubble.

Tayseri was always a reminder if nothing else.

He stopped at the sound of a door opening. Across from him, Riley straightened and her hand dropped to her holstered pistol and pulled it out, green eyes narrowed. Anderson said nothing when she moved in front of him, covering the door.

That was what the younger N7 was here for, after all.

"Bodyguard, Anderson?"

It was a shock, like lightning down his spine, to see Shepard standing in the doorway like something out of a memory, the sharp light washing across her. She looked both like and unlike herself. The set of her shoulders was the same, the watchfulness that'd stuck around after her first real fights, the self-confidence in the set of her shoulders that said she was used to being the most dangerous person in a room. But there was a hunted animal cast to her eyes now, an exhaustion, like she was trying to outrun something but it was catching up, and that wasn't even counting the hint of burnt orange buried in her pupils.

She held herself like she had after Akuze. Like only willpower was keeping her in one piece.

He wanted to hug her. He wanted to tell her to come home, come in out of the cold. But he suspected they both knew it wasn't going to be that easy.

"You  _ were _ top of our class, Shepard," Riley said easily. She put her sidearm away but her fingers lingered near the grip, and he knew Shepard hadn't missed that. Riley had spent eighteen months hunting Cerberus cells, on Shepard’s request. "Besides - you brought your own."

Garrus Vakarian hovered behind Shepard, and he was a different man to the one Anderson had last seen. There was something hardened in his blue eyes, pale dressing covering one side of his shrapnel-marked face. He’d lost track of the man after he’d left CSec the second time, but the months hadn’t been kind to him.

"It's good to see you, Shepard," Anderson said and meant it.

Shepard paused before she nodded. "You too, sir."

"Don't get so formal on me," he said roughly. Conflict churned behind his ribs - she was  _ alive _ and the moment he'd known for  _ certain _ all he'd been able to feel was relief. There'd been the reports, but he hadn't let himself believe them. He hadn't let himself  _ hope _ .

Now she was alive and here - and working for Cerberus. Coyle had vouched for her - said it was her, said she was loyal in the ways that mattered. But it still complicated things.

“Sorry,” she murmured, shifting. She glanced around like she was looking for an exit.

"Thanks for coming. I know that it's a risk with everything that's been going on."

She shrugged. "I figured that if I can't trust you, Anderson, I can't trust anyone."

Anderson didn't point out that she hadn't brought her ship. They both knew that trusting each other only went so far when galactic politics was involved. They both knew the weight of duty.

"We've set up for a remote call. When you're ready."

Shepard drew in a breath and squared her shoulders, looking for all the world like the Marine she was supposed to be. "Let's get this over with."

The communication equipment hummed to life, casting the four Councillors in flickering light.

_ "Spectre Shepard," _ Udina's expression was pinched. Shepard's death had been the removal of a thorn in his side. A dead hero was easier to manage than a live one with inconvenient things like  _ opinions _ .

"Councillors," she replied calmly.

_ "We've heard many rumours about your return." _ It was Valern who spoke, crafty eyes looking the human woman up and down. No doubt noting the clear signs of cybernetics, just as Anderson had. Alchera hadn't left her without scars.  _ "Some are...unsettling." _

_ "We have summoned you for this meeting so that you might explain yourself, _ " Tevos interjected. Always playing the voice of reason.  _ "We owe you that much. After all, you did save our lives in the war against Saren and his geth." _

In spite of the Council’s obstinance. On his most bitter days, Anderson recalled fighting his way through those tunnels with young Jaz Teke and climbing over the bodies left by the geth, and he wondered how many lives could've been saved if they'd just  _ listened _ to Shepard.

"You mean Sovereign's geth," Shepard's jaw clenched. It only tightened further as the Council's dismissal of the Reapers filled the safehouse.

"Without evidence, others are less willing to believe you than I am," Anderson told her apologetically. "We weren't able to recover anything from the Prothean VI."

"The  _ Normandy _ was destroyed by a Collector warship," Shepard said sharply, "they killed twenty-one of my crew - put me in such a condition that it took me two years to recover. Now I have evidence that they're attacking remote human colonies in the Traverse, and there are enough similarities with their technology to suggest a Reaper connection."

Sparatus flicked his mandibles irritably. He'd never been fond of Shepard.  _ "You've been manipulated - first by Saren and now by Cerberus." _

"I see we're back to sticking our collective heads in the sand and hoping not to get eaten," Shepard said, eyes flashing furiously. "How many people  _ died _ last time because you refused to act?"

_ "Now, listen here-" _ Udina began.

"I risked everyone under my command's lives to save the Citadel when you refused to attack Ilos. I sacrificed thousands of human lives to save the  _ Destiny Ascension. _ And we're right back to saying that I'm crazy." There was the sting of betrayal in every one of her words, and Anderson couldn’t blame her.

_ "We are in a difficult situation, Spectre Shepard, _ " Tevos' voice was smooth and even.  _ "You are working for Cerberus - a human supremacist terrorist organisation. That is treason, a capital offence." _

Anderson's jaw clenched. She'd saved the whole lot of them. "That's too far! Shepard is a hero. She wouldn't work for Cerberus without good reason."

"I'm not - I'm not a traitor, Councillor," Shepard said it so earnestly Anderson's heart hurt. She'd seen and done so much in her thirty or so years, but she'd never quite stopped being a true believer. "I just want to put an end to these colony attacks."

_ "Maybe there is a compromise," _ Tevos said thoughtfully - as if this wasn't exactly what she'd planned coming into this. She was a wily one, Tevos. Always maneuvering everyone around her. Just as she had when Shepard had become a Spectre in the first place.  _ "We cannot condone Cerberus actions, but we can give you peripheral support. Spectres are never declared killed in action, only inactive." _

Probably because Shepard was the first one to show up after being thought dead.

_ "If you stick to the Terminus Systems and keep a low profile, we will reinstate your Spectre status," _ Sparatus added.

Shepard hesitated. "Will I need to start reporting again?"

“ _ That won’t be necessary. The Council cannot become involved in this investigation - this is a show of good faith.” _

“Fine.” Her flat acceptance was far from the ceremony in 2183, but it seemed to placate the Council. Good faith or an attempt at control? Either way, it was a measure of legitimacy he knew Shepard needed. She wouldn’t get it from the Alliance, not now.

“ _ Good luck. We hope for a quick resolution - and a quick end to your relationship with Cerberus.” _

"You know they won't actually do anything, right? It's just symbolic," Anderson pointed out dryly after the holograms faded.

"I know, but I've got enough burnt bridges." Shepard pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. The familiarity of the gesture was comforting. She might be working for Cerberus, she might have new glowing parts, but she walked and talked like the Shepard he knew.

The Shepard he'd thought he'd buried.

"Fair enough. Hackett and I will keep the Alliance off you as best we can."

She blinked at him. "Hackett?"

Anderson shrugged. "Pretty sure he still considers you one of his Marines." For all his cold strategic mind, Hackett had always made a point of protecting his people as much as was feasible. "And I'm still your friend, Shepard."

They'd left things on bad terms. It was something he'd thought about a few times, at the bottom of a glass. Now he had a second chance.

Funny how it was harder to take than he'd thought it would be.

"And I'm still yours, whatever Cerberus says."

"I don't get that part," Anderson admitted. "Last time we spoke..."

Last time they'd spoken Shepard had been on her own rampage to avenge Akuze. She'd been angry, betrayed even, that he hadn't told her about the suspected link between Cerberus and Akuze.

"I don't feel like I have much of a choice," Shepard's voice was halfway between grim and resigned. "We both know the Alliance won't take me back, not without detaining me until they're sure I'm not...compromised, and the Council won't help me. I don't trust Cerberus but...those colonies, Anderson, I can't just walk away."

"I get it." God help him, he did. "You're caught between a rock and a hard place."

"Story of my life," she grumbled. "I keep - I keep dreaming about Akuze. Thinking about it. I can't trust Cerberus, but if I'm going to complete this mission part of me keeps saying that I need to buy into something. Otherwise, we're all going to die. But it’s  _ Cerberus. _ "

"Subordinates do usually have an annoying knack for working out when you don't trust them," Anderson agreed. "But your crew - they're not all Cerberus, right? See if you can trust them. Buy into them and into the mission itself - screw the Illusive Man or whatever the fuck his name is. At least until you've dealt with the Collectors."

Shepard gave him a ghost of a smile. "Still good for advice, I see."

"Comes with getting old," he told her.

"That and the gray hairs."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. And for what it's worth, Shepard? I don't think your Raiders would blame you. They'd understand getting the mission done."

Shepard's throat worked for a moment. "Thanks."

"Have you spoken to your mother?" he asked gently.

"No."

"You should. She'll want to see you."

"I don't know." Shepard rubbed a hand across her cheek, the raw red cracks there. "What could I even say?"

"I don't think you'd need to say anything. She loves you, you know?"

"I know, but I've been gone  _ two years _ . I don't know," she waved a hand helplessly, "I can barely think about that, let alone think about rebuilding my life. Especially with this mission hanging over my head."

"You're more than a soldier, Shepard. Don't forget that." He was hardly one to talk about a healthy work/life balance, but whatever Cerberus had done to her, Shepard was more than a weapon to be aimed.

Shepard looked away. "Not like everyone's been happy to see me."

“Don’t write everything off. There’s a lot of people in this galaxy who love you, Shepard. You haven’t lost everything, not if you still want it.”

* * *

 

**Codex Entry**

Spectre Gestann Pax: Nasurn Amarr Aegohr Dal Pax Gestann was a salarian intelligence officer and Spectre born in 687 CE to the Pax clan on the planet of Nasurn. After a year of service in the Union Army as an intelligence officer, Gestann Pax passed selection to join the Special Tasks Group at the age of twelve. Only a year later the  **Krogan Rebellions** began, ushering in a decade of chaos and bloodshed.

Pax excelled as a wartime operative, leading at least six successful raids against high-value targets. After a successful mission assisting the asari Spectre Kera T'Vaelis, Pax was recommended for Spectrehood. The two worked together during Pax's training period, and he was inducted as a Spectre in 702.

Gestann Pax gained a reputation as a cunning and ruthless Spectre and is believed to be responsible for the assassination of the infamous krogan warlord Graken Dhal, known for bombarding the turian colony of Digeris. For that act, the turian Hierarchy attempted to bestow the Nova Cluster on the Spectre - but he refused, citing his belief that Spectres should be 'quiet professionals' and their names kept out of the history books.

Despite this preference, Pax was fated for notoriety. After Dhal's death, many of the Graken clan warriors attempted to hunt down and kill the Spectre responsible. Pax survived no less than six attempts on his life.

On the seventh attempt, however, it appeared Pax had been killed alongside his attackers by the detonation of a nuclear warhead. Gestann Pax was declared Killed In Action by the Citadel Council in 708.

In truth, however, he had somehow survived - the manner by which he always refused to divulge, even to his friend and mentor Spectre T'Vaelis. For a year he remained in hiding amongst the slaves of Clan Graken gathering intelligence before striking - killing the new clan chief, all three of his sons and many of the Gredak battlemasters - and returning to Citadel space.

His return and the resulting bureaucratic nightmare led the Council to decide to designate dead Spectres as 'inactive' rather than killed in action, a decision that only contributed to the branch's mystique.

Gestann Pax eventually passed away on Nasurn at the age of forty-two, T'Vaelis by his side.


	13. Detour

Sunlight sizzled between pools of shadow cast by piles of ancient masonry. It was easy to be awed - to tread the same paths their ancestors had once, surrounded by the things they had constructed beneath Dholen's baleful glare. But Kal'Reeger Vas Lestiak wasn't much one for sentimentalities, especially when they were sitting on a hornet's nest.

He darted between shifting shadows, limiting his exposure to the sun's radiation as much as possible, rifle clutched in one hand. In these sorts of conditions even quarian shielding would melt away in seconds, leaving him all too vulnerable.

The ruins were silent except for the soft sigh of wind through the ancient city.

His Marines were scattered in a hemispherical perimeter - a handful of sentries watching out for geth while their brothers and sisters in arms slept, swallowed down tubes of nutripaste or slept, propped up against crumbling walls. For the most part the geth didn't bother with patrols - their terrifying reputation was enough to keep non-quarians way - but a single geth unit finding them would mean the entire planet would be aware of their presence.

Kal's team was well-drilled and well-equipped, but if the geth came after them in numbers they'd all die sooner or later.

Even their ship, hidden in orbit, was really only protected by secrecy. The geth didn't keep much of their fleet in the system, but even one cruiser would eat the Jelarian for lunch. Not for the first time he wondered exactly was so fascinating about Dholen that the admirality would risk so many lives for some data.

Then he efficiently discarded the thoughts. He was a grunt, a pointed gun. The admirality had to think of fourteen million lives and the continuity of their species and culture. If they thought the data was needed, he'd get it.

Or well, he'd protect Tali'Zorah while she got it.

Do everything you can to bring her home safe. The instruction had come from Admiral Gerrel rather than her father, Admiral Rael, but he'd taken one look at the man and thought that he'd better come back with Tali still breathing or not come back at all.

It helped that she was a lot kinder than her father. She'd made an effort to learn the Marines' names and listen to his advice instead of just dismissing them as a bunch of dumb grunts like some engineers and scientists could. Sometimes after they'd finished discussing the security procedures on the way here, she'd told him about her adventurous Pilgrimage, fighting alongside the human Systems Alliane against the geth.

Now Kal would make sure she got home not because her father would probably have him spaced if he didn't, but because the mind behind that faceplate was something else. Something the Migrant Fleet would need, more than one man with a gun.

He ducked into the nearest building where the science team was set up, studying Dholen and its effects on Haestrom.

"Ma'am."

Tali'Zorah looked up from her work, nimble fingers pausing on ancient circuitry. "Oh, hello Kal. Is something wrong?"

He tilted his head in a  _no_ . "Just wondering how much longer you estimate before we'll exfil. Thinking I might send out a small patrol, make sure no geth sneak up on us."

"A day, if we can get our readings finished before tonight." She spread her hands in uncertainty.

"Understood, ma'am. I’ll send out a small team."

He ducked back outside, stepping past a snoring Vern'Kalla, to where Team Leader Liyah'Nar Vas Lestiak was resting with her carbine across her lap and her head tilted back to stare up into the clear sky. She'd always been deeply moved whenever they walked through the ruins of their ancestors.

"Liyah."

She straightened, "Yessir?"

"Take your team and do a sweep - carefully. Make sure we don't have any drones patrolling nearby. Two hours maximum - after that and I'll assume something's happened."

Her luminious eyes blinked behind her pale blue visor. He didn't have to spell out that no cavalry would be coming. They'd run these missions together before. "Yessir."

She rose to her feet and started collecting the three other members of her team - none of them particularly pleased to have been ordered to patrol, Jael complaining he was just in the middle of a game he was definitely going to win against Tehn. A quick glance at their game told Kal that he was very wrong about  _that_ , but he just waved the private's complaints off. They all had their duties to complete. 

Then it was back to waiting and watching.

Two hours came and went.

He took to pacing in front of the doorway leading to the science team. >Where are you, Liyah?

His answer came three hours after her departure and not in the way he wanted. His comms crackled, hissed.

Tehn, voice taut and grim.  _"-they're here. At least a platoon - armature. Team Leader Liyah is dead. I'll buy you as much time as possible. Keelah se'lai."_

His gut clenched into a hard knot, face falling. Liyah had been a good Team Leader - one that could've made it to Squad Leader within the next few years. Her loss was another wound left by the geth.

"On your feet," he snarled, grabbing the nearest private. He still had two teams and himself - nine Marines. They might not be able to stop the geth, but they'd make them pay for every spilled drop of quarian blood, "Prepare for contact - enemy strength is estimated at a platoon."

Kal didn't have to say what they all knew - even if they managed to destroy the geth platoon, more would come. He let their Team Leaders start to get everyone sorted and ducked back into the science team's room.

"Tali, you need to get into the back room. Seal it behind you - we'll collapse the pillar outside over the front door-"

She shook her head frantically, "Kal, I can help, I can fight. You know I can."

He bowed his head. Respect, resignation. "I know you can." Tali'Zorah had killed more geth than some Marine squads put together.

"I can't just hide while you die." she said softly, eyes darting bright behind her facemask.

"But I have my orders and you have yours." His voice was gently but resolute. He wouldn't let the geth through while he still drew breath.

She paused, but then she was gone, disappearing deeper into the building. Kal breathed out, grabbed a rocket launcher leant against a wall for just this situation, and dashed back out into Haestrom's heat. 

* * *

Any warship should have a gym, just like any Marine base or outpost ended up with one, but sadly it hadn't seemed to be on Cerberus' priorities - unlike leather seats and wall-size fish tanks.  _Civilians_ . 

Luckily, Operative Taylor was a more evolved person and had set up a makeshift one up in a corner of the flight deck. Racks of weights, foam mats over the cold, hard steel deck. She'd still have to run circutis of the flight deck for cardio, but that'd been same on the real  _Normandy_ . 

Sometimes Charles had joined her, red-faced and puffing as he attempted to keep up with her.

She bit her lip, focusing on her form as she went through bicep curls. Focusing only on the satisfying burn of pushing herself. Not on Charles, not on the nightmares of the ship splitting open around her, not on the fact that she was using weights far heavier than she would've before Alchera.

Reading the reports, reading about bone and muscle weave, cybernetics, all of it - it was still something very different to  _feel_ it. Feel how weights she would've once strained to lift felt like nothing. Feel how she had to pull her punches when sparring.

She felt like an interloper in someone else's body. She'd never thought she'd miss the acid scars, but they'd been their own kind of testament. Akuze happened, she'd survived. But now they were gone and her body was a clean slate.

Lawson wouldn't get missing scars.

Shepard finished the set and let the weight thunk to the deck with a metallic ring. Sweat prickled across her forehead and down her spine. The deck hummed softly with the sound of Rolston's tools as he worked on the Kodiak. Something about a coil, something she hadn’t bothered to pretend she understood. She'd never pretended to be an engineer or mechanic.

She dropped to the floor and began gritting out push ups. She'd never enjoyed them that much, reminded too much of Gunny Ellison - except as a way to show off to women on shore leave after her marriage had broken down.

Ash wouldn't be impressed. Hell, she'd probably grin at her and try to beat her count.

Shepard shoved the thought away. She'd always thought that somehow, eventually, they'd find a way to make it work, Alliance be damned. When she'd imagined the hazy future she'd always imagined Ash in it.

But those dreams had always relied on Ash wanting to meet her there. She wasn’t sure how to start mourning that future. With Rita she’d seen the end coming a long time before her wife had fallen into bed with another woman; the distance, the long silences between emails, the hard words - a _re you trying to get yourself killed? I don’t know you anymore. What about me? What about us?_ There’d been nothing like that with Ashley. Just the sharp knife of two years and all the love Shepard still felt no longer had anywhere to go. 

In that moment on Horizon she'd known that if she really tried, if she laid it all on the table, that Ashley might have been convinced. But she would have had to tip her hand to Miranda about her deal with Coyle, or pick at all of Ash’s resentments and doubts and -

Ash deserved better than to be manipulated and Shepard had to see this mission through. The choice had come up - love or duty, and Shepard had chosen duty. Maybe the Illusive Man had really managed to tie those strings onto her after all, or maybe she'd always be the woman who'd sacrificed her friends on Elysium.

"Commander, we are receiving a hail from the Migrant Fleet. Admiral Rael'Zorah Vas Rayya has requested to speak with you." EDI's voice was as smooth as ever.

Shepard wasn't sure what exactly set that prickle of revulsion down her spine whenever the AI spoke - that every AI she'd met had tried to kill her before and Cerberus was playing with fire, or that EDI was in a real sense a slave.

Shepard racked the weights and stretched, wincing as she rolled her shoulder. "I'll take the call in my quarters in fifteen." 

* * *

Tali twisted her hands together, standing in the middle of the unfamiliar mess hall, surrounded by curious strangers. All of them human. All of them  _Cerberus_ . She'd never thought she would ever willingly step aboard a Cerberus vessel - but this was  _Shepard_ . The first non-quarian to treat her fairly, to trust her. 

"He'll be okay?" Tali asked anxiously.

Shepard had her arms crossed. For the last hour they'd waited for news as Chakwas operated on Squad Leader Kal'Reeger. Tali didn't know if she could bear it if he died as well. All the scientists, all the Marines, the ship the admirality had sent them on - all gone. All of that bloodshed and for what?  _Sensor readings._

The admirals had started on a speech about how she should return to the Fleet as soon as possible before she’d cut them off, consequences be damned. She couldn’t do it. She couldn't live shoulder to shoulder with the mates and children of dead Marines and dead scientists. She couldn't pretend the Reapers weren't coming. She couldn't leave Shepard again.

"Chakwas said his injuries weren't too serious," Shepard said. Her voice was that even calm that Tali had always found soothing, even in the midst of battle. She looked better than on Freedom's Progress. Her face no longer had a gaunt cast, she'd regained muscle and the red gleam in her eyes had faded to a familiar brown - except when the light hit her just right. "And if there's any human doctor that can treat a quarian properly, it's her."

Part of Tali still felt like if she looked away too long, Shepard might fade away and she would be back with the Fleet, alone with a grief her father didn't understand or try to.

"I know," Tali said, and then because it was only now  _truly_ sinking in that Emilia Shepard was alive, she grabbed the human woman around the waist in a tight hug. Shepard went very still, surprise flashing across her face. Tali very nearly backpedaled, tripping over an apology, but then Shepard returned the hug, hand firm on her shoulder. 

"I'm glad you're okay," Shepard said quietly, "I was worried I wouldn't get to you in time."

Tali stepped back, ducking her head. "How  _did_ you know where I was?" 

Shepard's arrival had been very timely.

"Your father," she replied, looping her thumbs through her belt.

"My...father?"

"Yeah. He said the Migrant Fleet had lost contact with you and your team."

"He asked a human for help?" Rael'Zorah had never been trusting of other species. He'd certainly not understood why Tali had been reluctant to end her Pilgrimage and leave the Normandy.

Shepard shrugged, "I don't think he wanted to, but," she waved a hand at the sleek metal of the ship around them, "he doesn't have a stealth ship."

Tali glanced around. "So...rebuilding of the Normandy. Creepy?"

Shepard's lips twitched. "A little creepy."

The door to the medbay hummed and they both turned expectantly.

"Kal'Reeger will be fine," Chakwas informed them, "I've repaired the lacerations and given him antibiotics to deal with the infection. He's sleeping now, but he should be back on his feet in forty-eight hours, barring any complications."

"Oh, Ancestors be thanked," Tali breathed out, relief soaking through her.

"Tough bastard," Shepard said approvingly. On the shuttle ride back from Haestrom she'd called him _a good Marine_ . High praise from the Commander. 

"Thank you," Tali told Chakwas earnestly.

"Just the job, my dear," the doctor replied warmly, "I do hope you're staying."

"Tali is going to be our new chief engineer, if she wants to be," Shepard jumped in.

"Really?" It burst free of her before she could stop it.

"No one knows the Tantalus core better than you do. Except maybe Adams and well," Shepard grimaced, "I doubt he'll be joining us."

"What about Cerberus?" She coudln't imagine a human supremacist organisation would be okay with having an alien in charge of the engineering department.

Shepard shrugged. "Cerberus can deal with it. It's my mission. Do you want me to introduce you to the engineering crew?"

"I'd like that." A thought crossed her mind and she scowled beneath her faceplate. "Am I going to have to deal with that AI?" She spat the word.

"I have numerous functions to assist the engineering department." The AI interrupted.

She glared at the ceiling. "I don't need an AI to tell me how to do my job, machine."

"I provide diagnostic tools and recommendations. The final decisions will remain your purview."

"Don't talk to me unless I ask you a question or the drive core is about the explode," Tali snapped.

"As you wish, Tali'Zorah." Could an AI sound disapproving?

Tali turned her glare on Shepard, even though she knew the other woman couldn't see her face behind her face mask.

The human shrugged apologetically. "Not my idea."

"I'll put up with it...for you."

"Thanks. And Tali?" Shepard rested a hand on her shoulder. "I really am very glad you're here."

"I'm glad I'm here too," she admitted. She had a great deal to talk to Shepard about - Cerberus for one thing, but she wasn't going to say anything until she was certain they wouldn't be overheard. Her suit had already picked up the signatures of listening devices. They weren't amongst friends here, except for a handful of people.

When the time came, Tali would hand Shepard the grenade to blow Cerberus to pieces.

* * *

The shrill screech of her doorbell jolted Ashley awake, cutting through the haze of sleep like a knife - and setting her hangover headache to pounding against the inside of her skull. She groaned, rubbing a hand across her face, eyes gritty. She'd fallen asleep on her couch, still dressed in last night's jeans and shirt. 

They'd hit the bars last night, the whole lot of them, drinking and telling stories about Lewandowski. All of it in present tense, because there were more than a few of Ash's Raiders that weren't quite ready to admit that he was probably dead, that weren't ready to admit this was another Raider memorial. 

Whatever the Collectors were doing with the abducted humans, it was unlikely they had any value for human life. Ash could already feel the weight of Ski's life and death settling on her shoulders, settling in amongst the 2/12th and the  _Normandy_ . Shepard had told her that the weight was the price of command and that all you could do was keep living to honour them. She wasn't sure she wanted to take any of Shepard's advice anymore, even the good bits. 

The doorbell rang again. 

Ash grumbled, shoving herself up and half stumbling to the door, running a quick hand through her hair. She keyed the door open. "Yeah?" 

"Ash!" Abby was already launching herself at her, squeezing the breath right out of her chest, before she jerked back with a wrinkled nose. "You look like crap." 

"I'm hungover," Ash complained, "I didn't realise you were on Arcturus." 

"I did email you. And try to call you," Abby rolled her eyes. She'd dyed her hair again - this time a bright purple - and cut since the last time Ash had seen her. It spiked in every which direction, in a way that made Ash's repressed NCO twitch. "I've got a conference on Arcturus for the next few days. I thought we should catch upt before you go back to travelling the galaxy." 

They'd always joked that Ash had gotten 70% of the family's collective athletic ability, and Abby had gotten 70% of the brains - and all the eccentricity. Ash was used to smiling and nodding when Abby got into detailed conversations about long dead humans. Her thesis title had been enough to make her head hurt. 

"Sorry. I've been busy," she stepped back to let Abby in. 

"Right," Abby smiled. "With your secret agent stuff." 

"Special operations stuff," Ash corrected, attempting a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. 

Abby noticed, because of course she did. "Is everything okay?" 

It definitely wasn't, but Ash didn't know where to start - even if she was even able to discuss it. National security took priority over her need to vent to her sister. 

"My last mission - it didn't go too well," she settled on. Seeing the flash of concern crossing her younger sister's face - Abby wasn't as anxious as Lynne was, but it was impossible for her family to  _not_ worry given her line of work - she hastily added. "I'm not hurt, don't worry." 

Abby studied her face in a way that was frighteningly similar to their mother, looking for the lie. "You look...." 

"Like crap. You've said," she rolled her eyes, turning away. "Coffee? What time does your conference start?" 

"Coffee sounds great - and not until tomorrow. I was hoping I could have dinner with you and Gabe. Sister bonding time, y'know?" Abby set her bag down on the couch. 

Ash felt her shoulders tighten as she turned to her coffee machine. "I'd like that - but Gabriel won't join us. We broke up." 

He'd come by the day before to get his stuff, stiff and distant. She'd looked at him and felt tired. 

"Oh Ash," Abby's voice was gentle, "What happened?" 

"It's...complicated." No easy way to say 'my boyfriend broke up with me because I'm still in love with my ex who I thought was dead but was really just a terrorist.' Good times. 

"And how are you feeling?" 

Ash turned, coffee cups in hand. "I'm not sure yet." 

It was the truth. She wanted to miss Gabriel - but what she kept thinking about was the Horizon sun on Shepard's familiar face, the way it had felt to walk away from her. And Shepard - she didn't know how she felt about Shepard. She knew how she  _should_ feel as a good Alliance Marine, how Captain Antella and General Mwangi would want her to feel. But part of her still whispered that Shepard had also been a good Alliance Marine. That Shepard had loved her. She had to have.

"You know you can talk to me, right?" Abby took one of the cups from her. Abby had always been the one person she could be most honest with, the one she didn't have to be the strong one for. Her mother had needed her, and Lynne worried so much, and Sarah was still a kid. Abby was just Abby.

"I know." 

"Alright. I love you, you know." Abby never pushed like their mother did, something she felt a sudden surge of gratitude for. 

"Yeah, yeah, I love you too."

They drank from their cups in silence, Ash swallowing down some painkillers from the kitchen drawer. 

"So, Sarah and Thomas have set a date." 

Senior Hospitalman Thomas McCall - a handsome, blue-eyed twenty-one year old sailor who looked at Sarah like she hung the stars in the sky, and the last sort of guy she would've guessed Sar would go for. Sarah was all sharp edges and a low-burning resentment towards the military that had broken their grandfather, killed their father and eaten so much of Ash's time - but she'd chosen a military man with a marshmallow for a heart. Ash had gotten two minutes into her Scary Big Sister speech and hadn't had the heart to continue. 

"Yeah, I read the email." 

"Are you going to come?" Abby asked bluntly. 

Ash massaged her aching temples. "I'm going to do my best." 

Old guilt sat like a stone in her gut. She hated missing important family events and there'd been a lot of that. And it wasn't like she could tell her family what she was doing. About the Reapers. 

"Okay," Abby said simply - but there was just a hint of disappointment clinging to the words. 

Ash opened her mouth and then closed it. She wasn't going to make promises she couldn't keep. Ma would understand - just like she had with her Dad's insistence that she raise them on colonies far from his postings. Sarah wouldn't.

Her omnitool chimed - priority message. Ash flicked the message and frowned at the terse words, before she started tapping out a message to her sergeants. “Hey, sorry - I gotta go in for a meeting. Make yourself at home, okay? I’ll add you to the security system. Don’t even think about a hotel - my spare room is perfectly fine. I’ll be back soon.”

Abby flapped a hand. “No problem. Go save the galaxy.” 

* * *

The Quarian Military:

Quarian society, despite their biological frailties, is relatively militarised, with each ship overseen by a captain whose word is final and policing conducted by military personnel. This is in contrast to their early history - warfare on Rannoch was uncommon and rapidly automated, and unlike humanity, planetary unification was achieved before quarians began to settle other planets. Before the geth uprising, the Rannochian government kept a relatively isolationist stance, rarely partaking in aggressive military action. Threats to the quarian people, however, were often swiftly and ruthlessly destroyed with advanced weaponry and cyberwarfare. Most infantry tasks were conducted by small groups of quarian military personnel who controlled large groups of drones and later geth. The result was that pre-war Rannoch was not particularly militaristic and those who did go into the military were more like tech support than infantry.

However, the fall of Rannoch brought swift and far-reaching changes to quarian society. Many of those who survived the war were the crews of warships. At first due to necessity and then due to practice, the admirals began to govern the survivors. As time went on, some demilitarization was achieved - civilian councils were elected on each ship to advise the captain and the Conclave was formed to oversee the Flotilla’s day to day governance. However, the admirals still have considerable emergency powers.

The Fleet Marines are responsible for internal policing and patrolling of quarian ships, and for any naval infantry tasks. Quarian Marines excel at skirmishing and raiding, using drones and cyberwarfare suites to increase their punch, but generally fare poorly in conventional battles due to their fragility. Unlike the Systems Alliance Marine Corps, all superiors - NCO or officers - are referred to as ‘sir’ or ‘ma’am.’However, it isn’t unknown for Marines to simply use each other’s names rather than rank.

Quarian Marine ranks include:

Private  
Team Leader  
Squad Leader  
Platoon Assistant  
Junior Lieutenant  
Senior Lieutenant  
Commandant

 


	14. Illium-Bound

"Shepard!"  
  
Liara had spent the past two years hammering herself into something harder than the archaelogist of three years ago. Into a weapon capable of being useful in the coming war. But seeing Shepard standing there, framed by her office door, Illium's lights absorbed by the obsidian of her armour - for a moment she felt like that all too young doctor again. Wanting Shepard to catch her.  
  
But she stopped before she lost composure and threw herself at the human woman, smoothing her hands down the front of her dress. Shepard had never been the most affectionate of women and there was something in her expression now, something guarded, lips pinched at the corners.  
  
It wasn't an expression she'd seen directed at her before.  
  
She looked - drawn. Tired. Shepard still stood with that military bearing, shoulders back and straight but she looked like she'd lost weight and there were hard red lines of cybernetics cutting across her face.  
  
But she was alive.  
  
All the pain, all the doubt, all the lies and secrets - Shepard was alive and it was worth it.  
  
"My sources said you were alive," Liara said, smiling, "but - I could hardly hope. I'm very glad to see you."  
  
Shepard glanced around the office, voice teasing, "You have sources now?"  
  
Liara settled back behind her desk, gesturing towards the door - and the rest of T'Soni Data Brokerage. "I've been doing well. It's been paying the bills since-" she stopped. Sometimes she still saw flashes of what had happened above and on Alchera in her dreams. "Well, for the last two years. And now you're back. Gunning for the Collectors with Cerberus."  
  
Shepard's jaw clenched and she looked away. "You're well informed. An unsavoury alliance born of necessity, I'm afraid. Why this? It's hardly archeology."  
  
"Isn't it?" Liara leant back, smiling faintly, "I've found a fair few of the principles transfer. Of course, the bodies still smell in this line of work."  
  
"I'd hoped you go back to your work after Saren," Shepard said with a frown, "what happened with your contracting with the Alliance?"  
  
"I needed to do more." _I needed to save you._ "No one was left unchanged by what we saw during the war, Shepard. This way I can prepare in my own way."  
  
"I know how this stuff works, Liara," Shepard's voice was low, intent, "It's dirty work. It erodes something in you. You were always the optimist on the _Normandy_ -"  
  
"It's been a long two years," Liara cut in, jaw firming, "and I am not a fool. I did my fair share of 'dirty work' on the _Normandy_. I don't require your protection."  
  
"I turned you into a soldier. You and Tali both," Shepard said wearily.  
  
"We made our own choices. I made my own choices."  
  
"The others said you disappeared soon after I - after Alchera. It seems a lot has changed," there was a hint of resentment buried in Shepard's voice.  
  
"I had things I needed to do. Commitments. Debts I need to repay."  
  
"I'm guessing asking you to help me with the Collectors is out of the question," she said dryly.  
  
"I'm afraid so. But I can help you. I know you're used to working with the assistance of the Alliance and Citadel's intelligence services. Let me be your eyes and ears - at least on Illium."  
  
Shepard's eyes studied her face for a long moment, inscrutable, and for a moment Liara feared she might keep pushing her disapproval of her new career, but then she nodded. "I'm looking for two particular individuals - specialists for my mission. An asari Justiciar named Samara and a drell named Thane Krios."  
  
"Interesting individuals."  
  
"It's not my list," Shepard said dourly.  
  
“I may need some time to gather some information on the assassin. We’ve been tracking him, but I’m still waiting to hear back from a contact as to his target,” Liara’s fingers danced across her holo keyboard, alerting her best personnel to the request, “As for the Justiciar - well, they cause ripples wherever they go, especially on a place like Illium. And usually a body count too. It appears she’s been seen in the spacesport sector. If I were you, I’d start with a NAPD detective Anaya. It appears she’s been ordered to...contain the situation. I’ll forward you her contact details.”  
  
Shepard raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms, “Contain the situation?”  
  
“Justiciars are required to fight injustice wherever they find it. And there’s plenty to find on Illium. She’s making a lot of very powerful people nervous.”  
  
“I think we’ll get along just fine then,” Shepard said dryly, “Potential opposition?”  
  
“Beyond bureaucracy? Eclipse mercenaries are active in the area, at least a company. They’re involved in smuggling interests.”  
  
“Didn’t realise you’d need to smuggle on Illium. Isn’t everything legal?”  
  
“Not everything,” Liara said lightly.  
  
Shepard paused for a moment, looking uncharacteristically uncertain. “Well. I should get to it. It’s...good to see you. We should catch up while I’m on Illium. Have dinner or something.”  
  
“I’m very busy, Shepard,” Liara said gently. Part of her wanted to say yes. But there was revenge to be had and perhaps another piece of her was wary of falling right back into Shepard’s orbit. It wasn’t two years ago.  
  
“Of course,” Shepard nodded sharply, “I should be going.”  
  
“Shepard…”  
  
“I’ll talk to you later.”

* * *

Bullets cracked over Garrus' armoured head, ricocheting off the metallic walls surrounding them and leaving scorch marks against the silver. In the tight confines of Nos Astra's back streets, sandwiched between the elegant towers, his sniper rifle was worse than useless. Instead he leaved around the corner and raised his Phaeston assault rifle, raking the Eclipse position with a burst.  
  
The Eclipse troopers ducked their heads - but it was nothing when Shepard picked up a shipping crate with a flare of her biotics and propelled it at them with bone breaking force. Nasty way to go, but effective.  
  
He took the opportunity to insert a new heatsink, stuffing the half full one into his webbing. If he looked up the towers surrounding them almost made him feel like an ant. That was probably the point. Money could buy you anything on Illium, including fear.  
  
Shepard braced a hand against the nearest wall, tatters of biotic energy tangling around her arms and torso as her head dipped.  
  
"Fuck."  
  
"Are you alright?" Garrus asked, mandibles tightening in worry. The air was hazy with spilled Minagen X3. EDI had calculated that it wasn't in high enough concentrations to kill them, but Shepard wasn't enjoying the experience.  
  
Boosted biotics or not.  
  
"Yeah. Yeah." Shepard pushed herself upright. ":Have I mentioned I hate Illium?"  
  
"Yes," Grunt said. His blue eyes were hungrily fixed on the path forward. They'd fought their way through a squad's worth of Eclipse, the three of them, but the krogan still wasn't satisfied. Shepard had considered bringing the whole team, given the Eclipse strength was at least a company, but had decided such a large armed group would bring them attention she didn't want.  
  
Plus she didn't want to leave the _Normandy_ without proper muscle.  
  
"Well, I really hate Illium," Shepard grumbled, lifting her shotgun.  
  
Illium was just another hell hole dressed up to look palatable. Palaces built on sentient misery. Part of Garrus wondered if they really should be taking Samara back to the _Normandy_ after all. This planet could use a bit of a clean up.  
  
And maybe a centuries old asari matriarch could do a better job than he had.  
  
They kept moving, Grunt on point. A krogan in CQB was something to be feared.  
  
Shepard glanced over at him. "Liara's...changed. I didn't expect to find her doing information brokering of all things."  
  
"We all changed," Garrus said. Alchera had scattered the _Normandy's_ survivors across the galaxy.  
  
"So I've been finding out," Shepard's voice was thick with bitterness.  
  
"Anderson's right, you know." he shot her a glance. "You should talk to your family. I don't know them well, but I went to your funeral - and it was clear they loved you a great deal."  
  
Shepard was silent for a long moment. "You went to my funeral?"  
  
It was a deflection. Garrus bit down the urge to poke and prod. "Yes. We all did - except for...Except for Liara. She took it hard and she and Williams argued, after Alchera. I don't think she could face it."  
  
"And now she won't talk to me," Shepard muttered, expression stony under her visor.  
  
"We were all looking for ways to make a difference after you...after you were gone, I think. Liara, Joker, me....Ashley. I don't think any of us expected to face you and have to explain it."  
  
Shepard frowned at him. "I'm not judging-"  
  
"You are," he said, a little amused, "A little, at least." Shepard had always been the type to plant her feet and demand the galaxy move instead. But-  
  
Here they were, both working for Cerberus.  
  
She shook her head and keyed open a door, raising her shotgun as they swept the room.  
  
"Don't shoot!"  
  
An Eclipse mercenary jerked to her feet, eyes wide and terrible explanations flooding out of her mouth. Really terrible. She'd clearly never had an acting lesson in her life.  
  
_Just shoot her, Shepard._ Garrus kept his rifle trained on the asari's chest. She was an enemy and he knew Eclipse all too well - there were few clean hands amongst that company, no matter how innocent they tried to seem. And they were on a schedule.  
  
"Turn and face the wall," Shepard's voice was calm, if unrelenting.  
  
"I didn't shoot my gun - I just pretended to because the others were watching-"  
  
"I really don't care. Turn and face the wall."  
  
Instead the merc grabbed for her submachine gun. She got as far as pointing it at Shepard's black-encased chest before Shepard's shotgun boomed, shattering her shields. Garrus smoothly pulled the trigger on his rifle, and beside him Grunt did the same.  
  
Chest riddled with bullets, Elnora toppled, dead before she hit the ground.  
  
Shepard shook her head. "C'mon, let's keep moving."  
  
There was a tense line to Shepard's jaw as they pushed back out into the corridors and alleyways, picking their way ever closer to the Eclipse company commander and the intel the justiciar was after.  
  
"Alright?" he asked.  
  
"War really is fought by kids," Shepard shook her head in disgust.  
  
"She pulled a gun on you. You did the right thing," he pointed out.  
  
"I know," Shepard said and he was glad there was certainty in her voice, "I just...maybe I'm getting old. Forget it."

* * *

 The offices of T'Soni Data Brokerage were a hive of activity around Shepard. She felt distinctly out of place amongst the staff in their elegant dresses and suits, still encased in her armour and skin clammy from the sweat of combat.  
  
She needed a shower. She should be on the ship, introducing Samara to her XO and getting her settled in. She should be talking to Kal’Reeger, recently recovered from his surgery, and either convincing him to stay on or organising his way back to the Flotilla. Instead she'd sent their new recruit back to the docks with Grunt and Garrus as an escort. She was relying too heavily on Garrus, especially after what he'd been through.  
  
But God, that ship felt enough like a prison she'd seized the opportunity to stretch her legs and snatch some time alone. And they did really need to get the intel on the drell assassin the Illusive Man was insistent on. She didn't want to stay on Illium for longer than absolutely necessary.  
  
"Sorry for the wait, Commander Shepard," smiled an asari - one she didn't recognize. She wasn't the assistant that had shown her in earlier - Nyxeris or whatever her name had been. "Doctor T'Soni is finishing up with a meeting. She'll be with you shortly."  
  
"It's fine." She knew her tone was brusque but she couldn't summon the energy required for charm.  
  
She brought up her omnitool, staring at the blank space of the email she'd started. The address she knew by heart, even now some of her memories had taken on a hazy, indistinct quality, riddled with holes.  
  
Like always, she closed it again without adding anything. Hannah Shepard had lost a lot in her time. Shepard didn't even know how to start.  
  
"Doctor T'Soni can see you now."  
  
Liara was staring out at the city when Shepard stepped into the room, setting her helmet down on the asari's desk with a metallic clink. The towers of Illium swept upwards, gleaming with gently blinking purple and white lights, ribbons of skycar traffic winding in between. It was beautiful, in that way some cities had.  
  
Shepard had a sudden, sharp longing for home, for Arcturus Station and its austere, silvery corridors pressing in around her, the small gardens tossed in an attempt at form as well function, the rattle of the trams below her window.  
  
She wondered if her mother had sold her apartment.  
  
Liara turned, a smile on her lips. "I heard you located the Justiciar."  
  
"News moves fast in this city," Shepard crossed her arms.  
  
"I am a very good information broker, Shepard." the cocky words fit strangely in Liara's mouth.  
  
"In that case, have you managed to locate Krios?" She bit down on her own temper. She felt like an exposed nerve, reacting to anything and anyone.  
  
"I don't know exactly where he is - but I have located who his target is," Liara seemed more than happy to just talk business too, "Nassana Dantius."  
  
Shepard grimaced. "I remember her. Nasty piece of work. She's not on the Citadel anymore?"  
  
Dahlia Dantius had needed to die, but the manipulation had left a sour taste in her mouth.  
  
"No, she left the Republican diplomatic service - it appears her particular brand of baggage led to a matriarch 'suggesting' she find other employment. She arrived on Illium eight months ago to take over as the CEO of her family's businesses. Let's just say time hasn't improved her sense of ethics."  
  
"Wonderful. So someone wants her dead."  
  
"Yes. Someone less than pleased with her business practices or one of her sisters, I imagine. She's hired Eclipse for her personal protection."  
  
"What a fucked up family."  
  
Liara smiled. "Indeed."  
  
"How do I find this guy then?"  
  
"He contacted an asari here in Nos Astra, Seryna. She has an office in the docks - I'll send you the directions."  
  
"Thanks, Liara. You said she's hired Eclipse?" Shepard rubbed her face, feeling the harsh material of her gauntlets scratching against her skin.  
  
"They're the preferred mercenary solution on Illium."  
  
"Can you send me the names of the notable Eclipse officers in the city? The captain of the company near the docks was someone I knew. I'd like to avoid the surprise if possible."  
  
She'd tried to talk down Wasea, she had, but the asari had just smirked. Said an Ardat Yakshi would do things to her Shepard couldn't imagine. So Shepard had ended up shooting her in her head.  
  
She didn't mourn Wasea exactly - this was how the galaxy worked, and she'd been a mercenary, one with blood on her hands - but it was still disconcerting to shoot someone you'd played cards with.  
  
Anhur felt a very long way away. In a strange way, things had been simpler then.  
  
Liara blinked, surprised. "You knew an Eclipse officer? A human?"  
  
She supposed she had put forward the Alliance Poster Girl demeanor a fair bit in 2183. That was what the Council and Alliance had needed of her then - for her to find Saren and for her to be the well-polished, well-spoken face of the war. Surely with her work now, Liara had to know the sorts of things a special operations officer with her career would have done.  
  
"Asari. You know the Anhur civil war, back in 2176? Eclipse played hero for once. The Alliance didn't intervene directly, but I was sent there to train the abolitionist militias on one of the Eclipse FOBs."  
  
She'd ran a few missions too. Hackett had always had a light touch on the reins; so long as she hadn't gotten caught or blown her cover she could kill as many Na'hesit as she liked.  
  
Those months on Anhur had been long and bloody, several of them spent practically besieged on Camp Umbra, both the Eclipse and the militia taking casualties every time they threw the APLA back. You couldn't remain apart from the people you fought and bled beside.  
  
It still didn't change anything though. If Eclipse mercenaries were in her way, she'd do what she had to all the same.  
  
"I see. I'll do what I can."  
  
"Thanks, Liara." They both paused as the asari assistant before brought Liara a datapad and a reminder about a meeting. After the door hummed shut behind her, Shepard raised an eyebrow. "New assistant? What happened to Nyxeris?"  
  
Liara paused, looking down at her desk. "She was a plant."  
  
Shepard stared at her. " _Was_?" Liara looked away, jaw firming. "Jesus Christ on a bike, Liara."  
  
"I knew we had a leak," the asari's voice was calm, without inflection. The same person who'd asked her to open the Relay to save the Destiny Ascension, who'd been horrified by the slaughter on the Presidium.  
  
"So you just killed her?"  
  
"She was working for the Shadowbroker!" Liara burst out.  
  
"Are you on the run from the Shadowbroker?" Shepard took a step closer, frowning. Desperation could bring you do all sorts of things. "I can help you."  
  
"It'd be more accurate to say he's on the run from me," Liara said sharply and there was a familiar, fanatic light in her eyes, "We crossed paths shortly after you died - I was on a job with a friend...it went badly. He needs to pay for what he did."  
  
That was rage, obsession. Things Shepard understood, but not on the face of this friend.  
  
"This is more than a job gone wrong," Shepard said quietly.  
  
Liara looked away, expression like a slammed door.  
  
"You can trust me," she gentled her voice and leant forward, placing her hand on the asari's. She'd always used a gentler touch with Liara, and Tali to a lesser extent, than the rest of the crew. Maybe Liara needed a reminder of that friendship, not the tired, embittered woman Shepard had become. "Please talk to me."  
  
It was a low blow, but Shepard pushed down the twinge of guilt. She needed to know what was going on.  
  
"Shepard..." Liara didn't pull away but something conflicted flashed across her face. "Did Cerberus tell you how they obtained your body?"  
  
Something icy slithered into Shepard's gut. She pulled her hand away and crossed her arms over her chest. "No."  
  
Liara got to her feet, turning to stare out the window, shoulders tense. "The Shadowbroker was working with the Collectors. I think he was responsible for alerting them to where the _Normandy_ was going to be. For killing our friends."  
  
Shepard said nothing and the asari twisted her hands together, her voice taking on the soft, guilt ridden quality of a confession, "He sent agents to take your body from Alchera, so he could sell you to the Collectors. So I...I took you back. I barely escaped and my friend got left behind. I owe him."  
  
"What happened next?" Shepard knew her voice was icy and hard, knew it by the way Liara flinched. Her body had been fought over like it was a - thing. A commodity. Something to be sold.  
  
"I gave it to Cerberus. I gave _you_ to them, Shepard."  
  
Shepard took a step back, cold all over. "What? Why would you- _why_? You know what they did to me - you might have as well just handed me over to the batarian fucking Hegemony-"  
  
"Because they said they could bring you back!" Liara burst out, whirling and there were tears in her eyes. "They said they could save you."  
  
"The Alliance-"  
  
"Would have buried you."  
  
"Maybe that would have been for the best," Shepard snapped.  
  
Liara recoiled. "You can't mean that. You're alive-"  
  
"I was brought back as a weapon for my enemies." She felt sick to her stomach, imagining the knives, the scalpels, the metal that had been woven into her body. All she'd asked was for her body to be buried in the same graveyard Isabel Alves rested in. "My family, my friends," Ash, "they all distrust me. The Alliance thinks I'm a traitor. I can't go home. I'm stuck working for the people who _murdered_ my closest friends. How is that living?"  
  
By the end of it, she was shouting. She'd never raised her voice at Liara T'Soni before.  
  
They stared at each other. Shepard's breath came quick and hard.  
  
"Shepard..." Liara's voice was tentative, close to breaking.  
  
"Forget it. Thanks for the intel," she let the words fall like punches and snatched up her helmet. She needed to leave. Move. Escape. She left Liara's offices, went down the stairs and out the door, into the cool, dark air of an Illium evening, all of it on auto-pilot.  
  
She found the nearest railing and leant against it, focusing on evening out her breathing.  
  
_Get it together._ The mission was what mattered. Even if she still daydreamed about her fingers tightening around the Illusive Man's throat. That's why she hadn't gone with Ash on Horizon or told her the truth - all of it.  
  
"Holy shit, Shepard?"  
  
She jerked upright, whirling.  
  
"Gianna Parasini?"  
  
"The very same," the NDC agent's eyes dragged over her. She was dressed in a suit, a new style. "I heard on the news you were dead. What happened? Wait, no, it's probably classified. You'd just have to lie."  
  
Well, _that_ was a relief. "What're you doing on Illium? Got bored of the blizzards?"  
  
"Work. I'd tell you the details, but-"  
  
"Then you'd have to kill me?" Shepard smiled, and the other woman laughed.  
  
"Something like that." She paused, eyeing Shepard. "Want to grab a beer?"  
  
"A beer?"  
  
"I owe you one for Anoleis and," Parasini shrugged, "you look like you need a drink."  
  
"That's all?" Shepard raised an eyebrow. The flirtation was easy enough to slip into. Gianna was both attractive and good company. There'd been plenty of reasons to ignore it on Noveria - she had a mission to complete, not to mention she was falling in love with Ashley even if she'd been doing her best not to notice.  
  
Now...now Gianna was here, gorgeous, funny and Shepard needed a break.  
  
"Your Marine won't mind?"  
  
"My...?"  
  
Parasini smirked. "The Marine who looked like she wanted to feed me my teeth when I flirted with you on Noveria?"  
  
Shepard felt her smile turn brittle. "Relationships don't really survive when you disappear for two years."  
  
"Fair enough." There was heat in Parasini's eyes as she looked her up and down again. "In that case, then...what the hell." She stepped closer. With Shepard in armour they were the same height. Her hands settled on the open collar of her hardsuit and pulled her into a deep, hard kiss.  
  
When they parted Shepard was a little breathless. "Damn."  
  
"Much better than an autograph." She reached up and used her thumb to wipe away some of her lip gloss that was clinging to Shepard's bottom lip. "Let me buy you that drink."  
  
"Lead the way."

* * *

 **Codex Entry**  
  
Illium Government: Although culturally affiliated with the asari Republics, the planet-state of Illium is not officially part of that political league. The more cynical would suggest this is more of a pretext - allowing Illium to have loose regulations on commerce, the kind that would never been accepted in the Republics, and to act as the figurative middle man between the Terminus Systems and Citadel Space, a position that has made the upper echelons of Illium's society extraordinarily wealthy.  
  
However, Illium's government is by far unique amongst asari worlds. Illium does away with the concept of 'governance by citizens' that rules most Republics, and the planet does not have an ecclesia or e-democracy in which regular citizens may vote, or even representative democracy in the vein of governments like the Systems Alliance.  
  
Instead, Illium is governed by the Directorate of Illium, consisting of thirty of the most influential corporate representatives on the planet - all from corporations who own a portion of the Illium Colonial Charter. Ten corporations are 'founders' who originally financed the colony and five are those companies who could afford the not inconsiderable price of 'buying in'. The head of government is the Director, elected by the board for a ten year term - a long term for short-lived species but unremarkable amongst the asari majority. The Director only votes as a tiebreaker but retains some executive powers for times of emergency.  
  
The planet is, predictably, very hostile to the concept of worker rights. Indentured service is the fate of not a few unfortunates who come to Illium looking for riches, and unions are illegal. Bribery of officials is a fact of life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Emilia's time on Anhur and her meeting Eclipse officers is mentioned in my good mate Jean's fic Eclipse Forever.
> 
> Sorry for the delay. Life's been busy. I'm fond of Liara - but this is Emilia 'daydreams about killing Cerbies' Shepard, so.


	15. The Assassin

Shepard woke in increments, sunlight painted across her bare back, sheets tangled around her hips. She was warm, sated and something close to relaxed. Or at least, the edge of her agitation had been worn away. How long that would last she didn't know - she was just going to enjoy it while it lasted. 

She opened her eyes to the rustle of movement and the very lovely sight of Gianna in a robe, framed by the window. NDC Internal Affairs had to pay well - the view was something else, a sweeping vista of elegant asari architecture lit by the rising sun. 

Shepard stretched, rotating her shoulder with a wince. Cerberus might've brought her back but they hadn't done many favours for that particular joint. "That's a nice view to wake up to." 

Gianna turned with a smirk, running bold eyes over her. "You're not so bad yourself, Commander Shepard."

The drinks they'd shared the night before had taken the edge off her low anxious feeling about the lattice of red-gleaming scars that crisscrossed her torso, but she'd still had a moment when she'd taken her shirt off. A moment where she'd waited, half-resigned, for the other woman's fear or disgust. What Cerberus had done to her was far from natural. 

It hadn't come. Instead, she'd gotten a wicked grin and fingers trailing over the lines of her stomach.

"Better than an autograph?" 

"Definitely," she drawled, “though I’m not sure it’s something you’d want me to do a testimonial about on one of your fansites.”

“Fansites?” Shepard propped herself up on her elbows, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh yeah. They exist.”

Shepard grimaced. “Wish I didn’t know that.”

“Sorry,” Parasini smirked, not looking at all sorry. “By the way, your omnitool kept buzzing. Looked like you needed the sleep though.”

Shepard reached over and hooked a finger through the slim band of her omnitool. She grimaced as the displayed flickered up. She had a multitude of messages from Lawson, each increasingly irritated. She’d definitely pissed her executive officer off. A small, spiteful part of her was glad. She’d been dancing on Cerberus’ strings - she deserved a goddamn break.

A larger part of her felt the slow trickle of guilt. She would never have pulled this on Pressly.

She tossed it back onto the bedside table with a groan. “Ever wish you could rewind time?”

“I think we all do at some point,” Parasini said dryly.

“I’ll get out of your hair soon,” Shepard promised, stretching again. It’d been a while since she’d done something like this. It’d been…nice. It’d definitely been nice to be touched by someone other than a scientist or a doctor, treated as something other than meat on a slab. But they were ships passing in the night, two near-strangers acting on attraction and nothing else.

The thought of anything more than sex made Shepard feel almost nauseous. She’d known, intellectually, that losing Ashley would hurt. The awkwardness after the first time they’d kissed had been hard enough.

But she felt like someone clinging to a bit of driftwood after a hurricane.

She didn’t want to think about Ashley.

“I’d offer you breakfast but I have to get back to work,” Parasini said apologetically, “I have to nail an asari.”

A pause, and Shepard raised an eyebrow.

“With fines,” Parasini added.

“Sure,” Shepard drawled.

“Hey,” Gianna’s expression turned suddenly serious, “I don’t want to put you in a tight spot, but have you heard anything about dark energy?”

Shepard sat up, untangling herself from the bed. “That’s…a pretty broad field and I’m not a scientist.”

Parasini shrugged, taking a few steps, frowning, “There’s been a lot of people interested in it all of a sudden. CSpace and Terminus - including the Alliance. My bosses want to know if it’s something to be worried about.”

“I’m not Alliance anymore,” Shepard said quietly, and God, it still felt wrong to say that. “And…”

“If you did know you wouldn’t say.” The other woman shot her a goodnatured smile.

Shepard shrugged, remembering what Tali had been up to - and yes, her briefings after the Battle of the Citadel. “Yeah. But if you want my honest opinion…”

“Of course.”

“Anything that multiple major governments are interested in is worth being worried about.”

“Wonderful,” Parasini muttered.

“Honest opinion,” Shepard raised her hands.

“Thanks - I mean that.” She looked her up and down, almost regretfully, “I really do need to get to work.”

“I had a good night. Thanks.”

Gianna leant in and kissed her, almost chastely, and then disappeared into the bathroom.

* * *

The cargo docks of Nos Astra were a hive of activity, even as Illium’s sun began to sink below the horizon. A dozen species rushed around, like fish flickering at the bottom of a pond. The waters here were murky - Samara knew that if she stirred them she would find injustice and wrongdoing to be corrected. At the point of a gun, if necessary. While that would normally be her duty, she had sworn the Third Oath of Subsumation, and now her duty was Commander Emilia Shepard’s will.

And Commander Shepard’s will was that Samara would meet her here, along with the  _Normandy_ crewmen Jacob Taylor and Garrus Vakarian. The two men had shown her the ship’s armoury and where to retrieve combat supplies from. She had no need of additional weaponry but she had restocked on heatsinks, energy bars and tubes of medigel. Vakarian had filled a bag with additional ammunition before they’d left - if Shepard hadn’t returned to the ship during the previous night she would require a resupply. 

After so many years of having only her grim mission for companionship, being on a busy warship such as the  _Normandy_ was…disconcerting. A very cheerful human maiden had greeted her - Samara had informed that she had all she needed for now. Once the  _Normandy_ took back to the stars, she would be able to gaze into the void. There were things out in the galaxy that made even an asari of her age feel both young and small. 

“Did Shepard have business on Illium last night?” Samara enquired.

Taylor glanced at Vakarian - but the turian kept his eyes forward. It was revealing. Taylor believed the two men were united in purpose but Vakarian was not convinced.

“Shepard can take care of herself,” Vakarian said with finality. Taylor opened his mouth as if he wished to say something, but then closed it again.

They found the Commander in the Baria Frontier storefront. The asari clerk’s eyes were brimming with tears and she had her omnitool open, displaying holos of what had to be her family.

“They’re beautiful,” Shepard said, her voice achingly gentle, “I’m very sorry for what happened to them.”

“Thank you,” the asari choked out.

“Your family spent their lives contributing to the greater whole of the galaxy. Please don’t blame innocents for what happened to them. Taking your pain out on them won’t bring your family back and it won’t bring you peace.”

The clerk burst into tears and tipped forward, into the human’s waiting arms. She didn’t seem to care that Shepard was dressed for war in dark armour, a pistol at her hip, clinging to her like a child. Shepard rubbed a comforting hand over her back until she regained her composure.

“I’ll…send Matron Shiala an amended contract. No more tests. No fees.”

Shepard smiled, a little sadly, “Thank you.”

“And I’m…very sorry.” The clerk wiped at her face. “There’s enough grief in this galaxy. I don’t need to add to it.”

“We all do things we regret out of pain.” Shepard patted her on the shoulder and left her to compose herself.

“Shepard!” Taylor waved and the Commander smiled, just a little at the sight of them, lengthening her stride to meet them.

“Thanks for meeting me here.”

Vakarian jerked his chin in the direction of the Baria Frontiers office. “What was that all about?”

“Remember Shiala? The commando who used to work for Benezia before the whole…Thorian bullshit?”

“She stayed behind to help the colonists.”

“I ran into her here in Nos Astra. The colony had some health issues after the whole enthrallment thing, so they organised for some medical tests to be done. Predictably for Illium Baria Frontiers snuck in some nasty fine print, and it’s not like they could rely on Alliance consumer protection laws here,” Shepard said dryly. “I’ve sorted it though.”

“By making their corporate representative cry?” Jacob asked, amused.

“It was that or punch her.”

“I’m sure Shiala will be grateful.”

“Yeah. She’s green now.”

Garrus’ mandibles twitched in surprise. The damaged one didn’t move normally, restricted by scar tissue. “What?”

“Yeah. Very green. I thought it’d be a bit rude to ask.” Shepard’s dark eyes turned to Samara. Her expression was wary, weighing, as if the human wasn’t quite sure what to make of her yet. “Thank you for coming, Samara.”

“Your will is my will,” Samara said mildly.

Shepard blinked. “…right. I visited Liara last night,” her voice hardened on the name, “and she pointed me in the direction of a contact. She’s going to take us over to Dantius Towers. C’mon.”

“What’s the plan?” Taylor asked.

Shepard shrugged. “Find Nassana Dantius, we find this assassin. Hopefully he can be reasoned with.”

“And Eclipse?”

“They’re in the way.”

“So we just let this guy kill someone?” Taylor was frowning as they made their way through the crowd. Between Shepard and Samara, no one seemed keen to stand in their way, melting out of their way like fish before a shark.

“Dantius is a piece of shit,” Shepard said succinctly, “If we get there first…Look, she’s the bait. This is the only way we’re going to draw Krios out. Any problems with that, Samara?”

Samara shook her head. “From what I know of Nassana Dantius, she is an unjust woman. Under normal circumstances I would be compelled by the Code to seek her execution.”

“Well, we don’t execute people on my crew,” Shepard’s voice firmed into steel.

Samara inclined her head. “As you wish, Commander.”

Shepard led them to one of the cargo port’s many skycar lots. An asari was waiting for them, leaning against a cherry-red skycar. She was a Maiden, with dark purple scales, a grim look on her face and a leanly muscular body. Not someone who seemed to suit the uniform of an officeworker.

“Shepard. Interesting friends.” The asari’s eyes lingered warily on Samara.

“I’ll need the help if you’re right about the Eclipse numbers in the towers.”

“I’m right.”

“Everyone, this is Seryna, Nassana’s former head of security. She’s going to get us in.”

“You hired Krios?” Taylor asked warily.

Seryna shook her head. “No. But I’m not going to shed any tears when he kills her. Come on. There’s not much time to waste.”

They piled into the skycar, a tight fit with four individuals in combat gear, Shepard in the passenger seat beside Seryna. The skycar hummed upwards, merging into the glittering streams of traffic. From this height Nos Astra reminded her of Serrice’s own tall towers and shining lights - but that was a thought she quickly discarded. She had left Serrice behind four hundred years ago and she wouldn’t return to it in her lifetime. Not as ‘home’ in any case.

“The towers are heavily guarded by a Eclipse company - they’re understrength, two platoons, but they have a lot of mech support. There’s no automated defences or traps - looks bad for investors. You’ll find more resistance closer to the penthouse. Nassana keeps her hired help close at hand. I’ll drop you off at the unfinished tower, where their patrols should be thinner. I would still expect sentries.”

“This isn’t my first rodeo - but thanks for the intel,” Shepard replied, her face shadowed.

“So, this assassin. You planning to stop him?”

“I just want him to survive,” Shepard replied without hesitation. Samara studied her profile thoughtfully. She had been discomfited by how Samara had killed the Eclipse lieutenant and that Detective Anaya’s superiors would send her to stop a Justiciar, with all that would entail. She had some kind of moral code, though humans could often be strange and mercurial in their moralities. Samara would wait and see if it led them both down the path of dishonour.

“Hrm.”

“Normally I’d ease you into my ground team,” Shepard said, twisting to look at Samara, “but I saw you in action. I know you can handle yourself in a fight, but I do expect everyone to follow orders.”

“Of course,” Samara said calmly, “I would not have agreed to join your mission if that was unpalatable. I was once a commando and a mercenary myself - I am familiar with small unit tactics.”

Shepard nodded, rubbing at her scarred face. “Good to hear. Take us in, Seryna.”

The human then pulled on her helmet sans the faceplate, flashes of city lights sinking into the dark material. Samara hadn’t brought her own. She’d always found helmets restricted her view too much and she could protect herself with her barriers well enough.

“Hold on.” Seryna pushed the skycar into a dive, settling down on a landing pad about halfway up the unfinished tower. The building was a skeleton, sheets of plasteel clinging to scaffolding, ‘DANTIUS TOWERS’ emblazoned in bright neon lights above their heads. Samara switched her assault rifle to burst mode, eyeing the nearest window.

“Good luck!” Seryna called, “Don’t linger - Eclipse will be here to greet you soon enough.”

“Thanks for the lift,” Shepard said, pulling out her own carbine.

“So,” Vakarian asked with an ironic flick of his mandibles, “We’re here, what’s the exfil plan?”

“Garrus,” Shepard said, mock offended, “I’m a professional. Trust me.”

It was clear the two of them had been in battle side by side before. There was a certain easy camaraderie between them.

“Heads up,” Taylor called, “I’ve got movement.”

Samara snapped around, raising her rifle, finger on the trigger and biotics seething below her skin.Two salarians stumbled out of a doorway, scrabbling with frantic feet and hands to get away from something, casting frantic glances over their shoulders. What they were running from became too all apparent as one jerked like a marionette on a string as a burst of gunfire tore through his body. The other only got a handful of steps further before a bullet caught him in the back of the skull and he too tumbled to the ground.

Mechs, jerky and robotic, tramped out after their dead prey. It was over in seconds.

“Ay,” Shepard murmured, her voice faint in the rush of wind around them, “Nassana really is a motherfucker.”

The mechs’ heads jerked in their direction - followed quickly by the rapid patter of metallic feet as three FENRIS mechs charged towards them, uncaring of the glass window between them. Samara let her cold rage settle deep within her, pulling her biotics in around her in a flash of light - and then forcing the biotic field outwards, shattering the glass into a million, razor-sharp pieces and tossing the three mechs off their feet. Two hit the wall in a crunch of crumpling metal.

Vakarian was moving, raising his rifle and firing two shots. One bullet struck the nearest LOKI mech in the shoulder, the robotic limb coming off with the spark of severed circuitry, the second striking it in the ‘head’ destroying the central processor. Taylor pulled the other LOKI into the air with a twist of the gravity field - then Shepard hit it with another field, tearing it apart between them. Samara felt the detonation in her teeth.

Shepard stepped into the building, glass crunching under her feet. “Let’s keep moving.”

It was clear nothing could be done for the two salarian workers. Their glassy black eyes stared sightlessly at the ceiling.

“Shepard!” Taylor called, leading the way into a corridor, “Got a live one here!” A salarian was slumped against a door in a puddle of slow-dripping green blood. He had been shot twice in the chest, cartilage and bone shattered. Shepard knelt beside him, her hands gentle as she smeared medigel over his wounds and coaxed the whole, terrible story from him. Nassana Dantius had set her mercenaries on her own workers to ‘clear the building’ as the assassin attempted his deadly work. Shepard told the man to wait for the NAPD to arrive and then they had to move on.

They moved in silence, flowing through the rooms. Many of the floors were unfinished and without railings, boxes stacked haphazardly every which way - convenient cover as they came across small Eclipse patrols of both the automated and organic kind.

One asari merc managed to get close to them, her shotgun barking and the fletchettes sparking off Shepard’s shields. The human stepped aside agilely, a biotic fist flying past her cheek, and then thrust out her other hand. Samara felt the gravity field around her shift - and then the asari mercenary was stumbling back and over the edge of the unfinished floor

She screamed the whole way down.

“Should’ve paid attention in those work health and safety classes,” Shepard said, but there was little humour in her voice.

“Don’t think they have a concept of that on Illium,” Vakarian added in. Samara just watched the tense lines of the human’s back and wondered what would happen to Nassana Dantius if Shepard got to her before Thane Krios.

Taylor shifted uncomfortably. “They don’t seem to be throwing their full strength against us.”

Shepard slotted a new heatsink into her carbine. “They’re killing the workers and they’ve got an assassin loose in the building. Whoever their company commander is - they’re feeling overwhelmed.”

“They should either withdraw to a defensible position or send a platoon after us,” Taylor said.

Shepard tsked, leading the way towards the service elevator the half-dead salarian worker had mentioned. “Taylor, didn’t they ever tell you not to give the enemy tactical advice?”

“Never interrupt your enemy when he’s making a mistake?” Taylor replied and it had the sound of a maxim.

“Exactly.” She waved at them, “Stack up. I’m guessing that elevator is going to have some new friends in it.”

Samara took cover in front of the door, Shepard beside her and the two men taking the flanks.

The elevator doors cycled open to the roar of a krogan battlemaster and the tramp of Eclipse feet. Somewhere at the back of her mind, Samara was mildly surprised. Eclipse was known for their discrimination when hiring. ‘Lady’ Jona Sederis was well known for her unrepetent brutality and racism both. But then again, it was common for wealthy individuals on Illium to have krogan bodyguards. Illium was fond of such vanities as reducing sentient beings to status symbols.

The rest of Samara was already in movement. Her rifle barked in concert with Shepard and Garrus, sparking off his powerful shields before they finally shattered, one bullet punching into his chest. A dribble of yellow blood trickled down his armour - but he simply roared and lowered his head, charging for the two of them. The cold, metallic room seemed to shake with his presence.

Samara flared brightly and Pulled, the dark energy coalescing around him and tugging him into the air, where he roared and twisted. His shotgun boomed but deflected harmlessly against her barrier. And then she slammed him into the ground, hard enough the metal floor buckled. Bloodied, the krogan attempted to get back to his feet, expression hazy with blood rage.

Samara raised her rifle, striding calmly forward. She shot him once and then again. He snarled, spitting out a globule of blood, staggering up again.

Beside her Shepard charged forward with the  _crack_ of biotic energy, seizing one of the Eclipse mercs by the throat with a glowing fist, but Samara was focused on her prey. She raised her hand, tossing him into the wall with the sound of cracking plates. He spat something at her - words of defiance, perhaps. She simply shot him in the eye and the krogan was finally still. 

The fighting was done. Red blood was splattered across Shepard’s arm and chest. The human looked between Samara and the dead krogan, expression inscrutable. They trooped into the elevator, checking heatsinks and suit breaches. They all remained unharmed. Samara was mildly pleased with what she had seen thus far - Shepard fought with the measured ferocity of a career soldier and her commands were terse, to the point, using their speed and multiple biotics to overwhelm the disorganised Eclipse troopers.

They rode the elevator up in silence except for the creak of ceramic and ballistic weave as Shepard clenched and unclenched her fist.

The doors hummed open.

“…no, I don’t know where he is yet. Don’t worry about it - we don’t need reinforcements. We’ll catch him on the bridge, I’m sure.” A human male in Eclipse colours, the insignia of a lieutenant on his shoulders. A fool of a lieutenant too, if he was truly that confident after the beating the Eclipse troops had been taking at their hands so far this evening.

Shepard moved in a flash of movement, seizing the man by the webbing and propelling him back into the window hard enough Samara heard the glass crack.

“Damnit,” he breathed.

“Have you seen the assassin?” she said flatly, flickers of biotic energy tangling around her arms.

“You’re not one of Nassana’s mercs.” He was very confident for a man who had an angry biotic in his face. “Who are you?”

“I’ll ask again,” Shepard said, her voice deadly-soft, “Have you seen the assassin?”

“Look pal,” he lifted his chin, “even if I knew where he was, I wouldn’t tell you.”

“Not the answer I was looking for,” Shepard said in a low, menacing growl. Samara could feel the aggressive spikes and eddies of her biotic corona.

“Go to hell,” he snapped back and then, the fool, he raised his voice, “Hey! Alpha-”

Shepard made a low, angry noise in her throat and then shoved out, her hands on his yellow-plated chest - and the window behind him shattered. He dropped, with a shriek of pure terror.

For a moment, Shepard stood there, framed by the broken window and her breathing audibly harsh.

Samara watched her. She wondered - was this human merely a hypocrite or perhaps -? She’d seen it before, in her time in the commandos and later, mercenary bands. A fighter driven beyond their limits, lost even to themselves.

“Shepard,” began Taylor, his voice caught halfway between discomfiture and concern.

The door opposite the broken window slid open and in poured more figures in yellow hardsuits. It was time to fight again. 

* * *

Through the vents Thane Krios watched the progress of this strange party of commandos - two humans, an asari Justiciar and a scarred turian. They had little subtlety, relying on the military maxim of shock and awe rather than an assassin’s stealth in dark places. They were rivals for his target - but Thane Krios had never been beaten to a target before and he had no intention of starting now.

Not now. Not on this, his last mission. His last act of contrition.

Below him the commandos confronted the commander of this Eclipse detachment - a scarred, one-armed salarian with the bright light of an omnitool encasing his remaining hand. Unlike many, the operative hadn’t opted for a cybernetic replacement. He had ordered his troops to kill the salarian workers with the same demeanor one might have when ordering lunch.

“Pek,” the human woman said, her voice a low, harsh growl, “I’ll make this simple. I’ve had an awful couple of months and I’ve already shoved one of your squad leaders out a window. Is Nassana really worth dying for?”

Chief Operative Pek made a noise like a knife blade on a grinder, lip curling back to show blunt teeth. “My missing arm is scarier than you are, human.”

He raised his hand, a flash of burnt orange light burst from his omnitool. The human dropped to one knee - but wasn’t quite fast enough. She made a noise that was half-rage, half-pain as the flames washed over her shoulder, boiling away ceramic plates.

Then she flashed forward in a blur of biotic energy. It was an inelegant death, biotic-assisted fist cratering bone, cartilage and brain beneath.

Thane wriggled forward on his belly, a grinding breath held in his chest. His body was slowly dying, but he had not yet lost mastery of it. He would not give himself away, not yet.

He found his hiding spot above Nassana Dantius’ penthouse. He had intended to kill her in the moment before her guards returned the favour, but these commandos, these strangers -

They changed things. He found he was curious.

“Goddess damn it, what am I paying you idiots for?” Dantius snarled, pacing in front of her desk, the city’s lights at her back. “Just-just find him!”

Nassana Dantius was a particularly heinous murderer on a world full of people with blood on her hands. Her death would be a gift to the universe. He would take no payment or restitution for it.

The doors slid open.

“Nassana.” The human woman again, her voice edged with dark humour, “fancy seeing you here.”

“Shepard? Shit,” Dantius said, with feeling. “But you were dead!”

“I got better.”

“Are you here to kill me?” Her voice trembled. Dantius was afraid of this woman.

Thane blinked, slow. That Shepard? He knew of her. It was said she was a great woman, a warrior with a knack for being in the right place at the right time. She had saved Elysium and the Citadel both. And then she had died, far from home. Then the other rumours had been said - that she was unstable, a liar or simply manipulated. That there were no monsters lurking in the dark places of the galaxy.

Heroes, especially martyrs, were often a threat to the existing order, and the dead had no voice.

But a dead Spectre laughed. “I’m not an assassin, Nassana. No matter what you might think.”

“So what?” she snapped back, “You killed your way through my mercs for what? A chat? What do you want? Credits? We can make this problem go away.”

“While your decision to massacre your own fucking workers has made me reconsider my stance on the whole murder thing, not everything is about you.”

Thane dropped soundlessly from the ceiling, landing behind one of Nassana's guards. He, like many high-ranking Eclipse operatives, NCOs and officers, wasn't wearing a full helmet. Thane's hand lashed out at the base of his skull with a meaty sound. The mercenary dropped, brain detached from the brain stem. 

"What the-" the second human guard yelped, trying to raise his rifle but Thane was faster. He seized the man by the stubbly jaw and twisted. His neck snapped beneath his hands. Thane was close enough to see the wide and lifeless blue of his eyes, the whites visible. 

He drew his pistol as the asari Vanguard Sergeant flared, her biotics rattling his teeth, and pulled the trigger. At such close range, her shields didn't activate. Fragments of brain and skull scattered across the penthouse floor. 

He spun. Nassana Dantius turned, reflexive corona drawn around her. His hand found her wrist and the trigger was pulled again. 

It was a good shot - through the asari heart and a lung, lower in her body than in a human or a drell's. For a moment, she choked, blood on her purple lips, and then she was still.

With care, Thane laid her down on her own desk on top of the screens filled the minutae of her sordid business. 

He bowed his head in prayer. 

Across from him the formerly dead Spectre was watching him, her arms folded and her carbine hanging from its strap. 

"Impressive," the turian murmured, _his_ rifle's muzzle didn't stir from his chest. Centre mass. A military man. 

Thane had intended to die in the pursuit of this asari's death. Yet - she was dead and he was alive, in the company of a Spectre. Where they went death and chaos followed. Or perhaps it was the other way around and they were drawn to the chaos. 

She had gone to such lengths to speak with him. He would find out why. And then.../

Then.

* * *

“Thanks for the help, Spectre,” the asari police sergeant said, weary lines carved into her face, and she even sounded sincere. “We can take it from here.”

The blue and red lights of the police cars and ambulances flickered across the dark Nos Astra street. Garrus shifted from foot to foot - beyond the barricade were the vultures of the local media, camera drones buzzing overhead. Everytime a flash went off he could see the imperceptible shudder that ran down Shepard’s spine, and he was glad yet again he’d decided to put his helmet on.

If his father or Solana saw him on the news after the murder of a prominent asari...well…

“You’re welcome. Just get those people some help.”

“I’ve gotten you a cab,” the sergeant added.

“C’mon,” Shepard said to him and tugged him along in her wake as she made for the cab like it was going to defeat the Collectors all on its own.

They piled into the skycar, still stinking of sweat and charred things. Shepard's armour was going to need repairs yet again.

“Your shoulder okay?" he asked as she punched an address into the VI interface.

"Medsuite's saying the burn's not too bad," she grimaced, "hurts like a bitch but I'll slap a gel patch on and it'll be fine."

He wasn't sure Chakwas would agree.

"Why aren't we going back to the ship?" he asked. Spirits knew he'd been looking forward to sleeping after fighting up all those stairs and he'd need to buff his plates in the morning. He was still working out how to do that around the scars. Chakwas had said some more movement in his mandibles would return if he kept doing her exercises but the results had been disheartening so far.

But Shepard had told Jacob and Samara to take Thane back to the ship - which could possibly go very wrong considering how pointed Jacob's glares at the assassin had been - , and he wasn't leaving her alone. Not at the moment.

Shepard wasn't herself. Garrus wasn't sure if he was the only one who noticed - or just the only one who cared.

"I need a drink," Shepard said succinctly. "You're welcome to leave if you like."

His good mandible twitched. "I...could use one too."

Eternity was a dimly lit, if elegant lounge, with just few enough patrons that it didn't feel crowded. Shepard headed straight for a corner table - and Garrus sighed a little in relief when he could put his back to the wall with a clear view of the entire bar.

Shepard tugged the armour off her arm clumsily with a hissed out breath of pain. The skin across the front of her shoulder was red raw.

Sometimes it still amazed Garrus how fragile humans were.

"Fuckin' Pek."

"Knew him?" He wasn't sure how he felt about Shepard having friends in Eclipse. She'd shrugged it off when he'd asked. Just one of those things.

"Yeah. He was always a prick," she pulled a package from her kit and began tending to the injury.

Her omnitool buzzed. Shepard glared at it.

"What did the omnitool do to you?" he asked.

"It's Lawson. She's called me incessantly today. I'm seventy percent sure I'm going to catch a warp field to the face as soon as we get back to the ship. And you know what the worst part is, Garrus?"

Shepard's fingers drummed against the table. He was used to her coming out of combat 'cool as a cucumber as Gung Ho had once put it. This was...not that.

"What?" he asked rhetorically.

"She's right. I'd warp me too in her position. I should be on the ship."

They were interrupted by the appearance of the bartender. She looked over the two of them, a smile on blue lips. Garrus had never seen a matriarch bartending before.

"Back again so soon?" She looked Shepard over and then Garrus, cataloguing their weaponry, the human woman's injury, "Your friend from last night do that to you?"

Shepard stared at her for a long moment, lip curling in what might've been disgust. "...No."

"I don't judge," the asari said, and she did sound as if she'd heard everything there was to hear in the galaxy.

"...whiskey. Just...whiskey. Please."

Her eyes turned to Garrus. "What about you?"

"Drossix Blue, thank you."

“Coming right up."

"Last night?" Garrus asked carefully. Shepard hadn't returned to the ship.

"Found company," Shepard said tersely. His mouth clicked shut. That wasn't a topic he'd expected to talk to her about. "And I thought I was fine. It was fine. Then I left this morning and..." she sighed, knotting her hands together. "I thought of Ash."

"Ash made her decision," he pointed out.   
  
  


"I know she did. But it still - everything I do it seems someone's going to hate me for it."

"Someone once told me," he said carefully, "that you can't control what other people do, just how you react."   
  


"Really?"   
  


His plates prickled uncomfortably. "Shepard, you told me that. After Saleon."   
  


She opened her mouth. Closed it. The asari bartender out their drinks down in front of them and Shepard grabbed her whiskey, taking a long swig.   
  


"What are we doing here?" he decided on bluntness. "If you want to walk away, I'm with you. But if we're going to do this -"   
  


"We need to do it right," Shepard filled in, " _I_ need to do this right."   
  


"Yes." He had to give her the truth.   
  


Shepard closed her eyes, breathed in deeply. "Alright. Alright. We have these drinks, then it's back to face the music."   
  


"I'm with you," he promised.

* * *

**Codex Entry**

Personal Correspondence:

To: Mike Toms (m.toms@tomssecuritysolutions.ex)  
From: Nos Astra Docklands Public Terminal 7342  
Subject: re: What the hell?

It’s not what you think. Please trust me. Can’t go into detail but will when I can - being watched closely.

I remember our friends.

-E.S.

 

To: Emily Wong (e.wong@citadelnewsnet.ex)  
From: Nos Astra Markets Public Terminal 233  
Subject: Scoop

Emily,

We met two years ago when you were working on a story in the lower wards. I’ve attached some information I hope you can use and bring to light. It may not be legally actionable anymore but it might be of use to someone like you.

-an old friend.

 

To: First Lieutenant Ashley Williams (a.m.williams@samc.mil.ex.sa)  
From: Emilia Shepard (em.shepard@normandy.ex)  
Subject: Re: Hey There

Ash,

~~I’m not a traitor~~

~~I don’t want to work for Cerberus but I don’t have a choice~~

~~Why would you think that~~

You don’t need to apologize. ~~I fucked up~~

~~I didn’t word myself the best I could, and I know it must’ve been a shock to see me. I tried to get a message to you but I think the Alliance was wary of letting me anywhere near you.~~

~~God I miss you~~

Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.

~~If I don’t make it back~~

~~Whatever happens, I love you.~~

Emilia.

 

To: Captain Hannah Shepard (h.e.shepard@san.mil.ex.sa)  
From: Emilia Shepard (em.shepard@normandy.ex)  
Subject: Re: You’re alive??? [draft]

Jefa,

Yes, I’m alive. I can’t explain yet, but I will. Everything’s really fucked up right now, but I never meant for you all to think I was dead.

Tell ~~Nick that he shouldn’t join the Navy unless he wants to~~

everyone that I love them and I’m sorry.

Love,

Emilia

 


	16. White Peace

Her hair needed cutting, Shepard decided, running her hands through the tight curls and pulling them back into a short ponytail. At least she’d regained muscle tone - she looked more like she had at twenty-nine now, even if she was now far stronger thanks to the ‘upgrades’ Cerberus had given her, filling out her dark fatigues properly once again.

But the red scars across her jaw had spread again.

_Think happy thoughts,_ she smiled ironically at her reflection and stuck a finger into the tube of cream Chakwas had given her. It was unpleasantly cold when she smeared it over the cracks in her skin, pulling at her collar to cover the worst scars on her unburnt shoulder as well. The scars there ran through the joint like the two pieces of her body had been stitched together, Frankenstein’s monster style.

Maybe that was exactly what had happened.

_You don’t need to be something you’re not,_ Hannah Shepard had told her daughter once, _but your subordinates should see that you’re put together. If you’re not, they’ll start asking questions._

Shepard supposed Cerberus crew members weren’t so different in that regard to Alliance troops. She couldn’t ask them to follow standards and fulfil their duties if they saw she wasn’t doing the same. Besides, a uniform had always felt a little bit like armour and she’d need that for the coming conversation with Miranda.

She was washing her hands methodically when there was a knock at the door.

“Come in.”

“Commander…” Chambers stepped through the door, pausing to look at the fish tank. “You got fish!”

Ah. Shepard stepped out of the bathroom, readjusting her uniform so it covered her bandaged shoulder properly. “Good morning, Chambers. And yeah. Only pet I could have as a kid - not a lot of room on Alliance space stations or agri vessels for a dog or a cat. Though the fish tanks were a lot smaller.”

“I brought you breakfast," Chambers said , lifting the tray she was carrying. The aroma of sausage, eggs and spinach made Shepard's stomach grumble audibly and the woman brightened visibly.

Persistent one.

"Thanks," she said mildly, taking it from her and settling at her desk, sweeping aside a handful of datapads. After she and Garrus had arrived back on the ship the night before, she'd narrowly avoided her XO - they had to have it out, but she'd needed time - and started studying reports for much of the night. Crewmembers and their skill sets, the ship's schematics and what intelligence they had on the Collectors.

It painted less than an ideal picture. Her specialists were all individually brilliant, but to say they were a team would be a stretch. The ship was an engineering marvel but the real _Normandy_ had been as well, and the Collectors had torn it apart with ease.

And she had no target. Nothing to plan towards hitting. Only a vague understanding that the Collectors wanted humans alive and that they were most likely working for the Reapers.

She untwisted the cap of the pill bottle on her desk, popping two.

"Your arm is sore?" Chambers asked, still hovering.

Shepard shrugged. "Yeah. Comes with the cybernetics, I'm afraid."

"And the burn? I heard you were injured yesterday." Chambers' voice practically dripped with concern.

It made Shepard's skin crawl if she was honest with herself. She'd been nothing but cold to her. "It's nothing. Chakwas said it'll heal in a week or two. Do you need something?"

"I was hoping to speak to you - in regards to the crew. Monitoring their well-being is part of my role aboard the _Normandy_."

Shepard missed the days when her yeoman just brought her reports and didn't try to ferret out how she was feeling. It'd taken months for Yeoman Hector Emerson to look her in the face, but he'd be damned efficient at paperwork.

She hoped he'd died quickly when the CIC had blown out.

She grimaced and waved a hand. "Sit down, Chambers. The hovering is weirding me out."

Chambers smiled widely, planting herself on the second chair by Shepard's desk, "Thanks, Commander. How are you feeling?"

The problem with psychologists is that refusing to talk to just invited more questions. "I'm alright. Had to do some thinking but I think I've sorted myself out."

Garrus had been the mirror she'd needed. The truth was she'd lost control of her life the moment Nihlus had stepped onto the SR1.

She could almost still feel how the glass had broken under her shoving hands. What had happened in Dantius Towers couldn't happen again.

"Really?" Chambers couldn't quite hide her interest.

"The past is the past," Shepard said firmly, then carefully injected appropriate enthusiasm into her voice, "what matters is that we stop the Collectors. The colonies are relying on us."

Akuze would never be in the past when she dreamed of her friends dying screaming every night, not until she had the Illusive Man's blood on her hands.

"And look," here she let her voice harden because it wouldn't do to be too accommodating too quickly, "I don't trust the Illusive Man. But this crew - everyone is here for the same reason. And they deserve my best."

It might even be true, that part. The crew on this ship seemed to be a mix of the idealistic and the former Alliance. Taylor seemed hardly the type to commit atrocities and then kill himself rather than be captured by the Alliance.

The Illusive Man was trying to manipulate her, she'd put money on it. But maybe...maybe she could turn that against him. Maybe she could even get all of them out alive at the end.

"I'm glad to hear that," Chambers smiled warmly, "and I know that this must all be quite the transition for you. If you need to talk, I'm always here for you."

Uh huh. Shepard shrugged, injecting a bit of sheepishness. "It might take me a bit. Alliance ships - they had counselors and chaplains on the big ships, but never frigates. And I'll be honest, we Marines kinda kept to ourselves."

"But you were in the Navy, weren't you? For the last part of your Alliance career."

Shepard scraped up the last bit of scrambled eggs. When he had real ingredients, Gardner didn't do a bad job at all. He wasn't Kanu Medra but...

"In name. I was a N7 officer, not a ship departmental officer. I thought they were crazy when they gave me the Normandy."

"But you did a great job!"

"I had a great crew," Shepard looked away. "You had something to tell me? About the crew?"

"It's just..." Chambers winced slightly, "Jack has been...more volatile than usual, while you were gone."

Shepard nodded. "She doesn't like being cooped up. I'll talk to her - and bring her on the next mission so she can get some of that out. How's Thane settling in?"

"Fine so far, I think," Kelly replied, frowning, "He seems so...sad though. I just want to wrap him up in a hug."

"...Right."

"I think there's some personality conflict between him and Jacob though."

"I'll keep an eye on it." She set her tray aside.

"I'll take that down for you," Chambers said, blue eyes flickering between Shepard's face and the tray.

"Thank you," Shepard leant back in her chair. "Can you send Miranda up?"

Chambers hesitated and then nodded.

With how her relationship with Lawson had been going, it was both dysfunctional and had switched the power dynamic between them. It was time to reset.

Despite everything, Shepard did respect her. Even if she couldn't trust her politics, maybe she could trust that competency. She'd need Lawson to get through the mission in any case.

"Commander, you wanted to see me?" Miranda crossed her arms in the doorway. Shepard spun to face her.

"Yes. I did." Shepard held out a small plastic packet. The crinkle of plastic under her fingers reminded her suddenly of the summers spent with the Shepard family. "These are for you."

Miranda raised one perfect eyebrow. "Tim Tams?"

"Well, if you don't want them," Shepard made to pull them back - only to be stopped by Miranda's hand seizing the edge of the packet. She suppressed a smile.

"No, no, I want the Tim Tams. But - why?" Blue eyes narrowed suspiciously at her.

"Because you were right. In all of your many messages. I'm..." she grimaced, "sorry for putting you in that position."

Miranda tilted her head, "How painful was that for you to say?"

Shepard huffed a laugh, leaning back. "I know I've been...difficult."

"That's one word for it."

"I don't like your boss," Shepard said flatly, "I think he's a snake." Miranda wasn't stupid, it was best not to treat her like she was, "and I don't at all buy his excuses that what happened on Akuze was a rogue cell."

"Shepard," Lawson began.

Shepard raised a hand, "Let me finish, please. I don't trust him, but...no one else cares about what happens to the Terminus colonies - or at least, no one else can do anything about it. That's millions of people, I can't discount their lives. They deserve my best."

"They do." Miranda was studying her with intelligent blue eyes, looking for the lie.

“Just don't expect me to be all Cerberus cheerleader," Shepard grimaced.

"You've made _that_ perfectly clear over the past month," Miranda's voice was desert dry.

"Can we start again?" Shepard asked seriously.

"Very well," the other woman said crisply, "but these are mine." She lifted the Tim Tams.

"Of course," Shepard said easily. She stood, wincing as her shoulder twinged. "C'mon."

Miranda followed her warily to the lounges. Shepard didn't want this next bit at her desk as officer and subordinate, even if she';d needed to recreate that dynamic somewhat.

"You're...not to blame for Akuze," she said at last, "nor is Jacob. There are good people on this ship."

"There are."

Shepard gestured in between them. "I've realised I don't know much about you."

"Twenty questions?"

Shepard shrugged. "If you want. You can ask me questions if you'd like - but I imagine you know pretty much everything there is to know about me."

"I watched all your interviews," Miranda crossed her legs at the ankle, "even Profiles of Courage, so I guess that's fair."

Shepard grimaced. "Between the logistics duty and those interviews, I was ready to run off to be a hydrogen skimmer."

She'd watched Torfan and the Theshaca Raids on the HV, watched friends get wounded or even killed while she did interviews and shook hands. The decorative war hero, the one they whispered had gone crazy after Akuze.

She wasn't going back into that dark hole. She wasn't.

"So you became a N7."

Shepard reached for a bottle on her coffee table and took a gulp of the lukewarm water. "I wanted to disappear. It worked, at least until the whole Spectre thing."

The Alliance didn't advertise who passed ICT or what missions N7s went on. Even a Star of Terra faded from the public consciousness.

"Not because you wanted to be the best?"

"Well, that too. Why did you join Cerberus?" She could be blunt with Miranda.

A complicated expression crossed her face. "My father...is an influential and wealthy man. He had money enough to do what he wished back on Earth."

"Wait...Lawson as in Lawson Group?" Lawson Group was owned by Henry Lawson, an Australian billionaire, and included Lawson Biotechnology, whose subsidiaries were contracted by the Alliance military for bioengineering, Lawson Dynamics, a ship parts manufacturer and Lawson Shipping.

Her grandmother had met him occasionally when she'd been a Fleet Admiral. What had she said about him? _Being in the same room as Lawson makes me ashamed we're the same nationality._

Miranda was silent for a long moment. Then, she nodded. "Yes. Like I said. Very wealthy. He's also a control freak."

"Not on good terms?"

"...that's one way to put it. He didn't want children - he wanted a legacy. I've had extensive genetic modification. I heal quickly and I'll likely live longer than the average human. Add in the best education money can buy and, well."

There was an odd mix of confidence and bitterness in Miranda's voice.

"That'd be useful to the Illusive Man," Shepard said carefully. Miranda wouldn't want her pity or her sympathy.

"Yes. Once I...escaped that life, Cerberus helped me, despite the fact that my father was a donor. The Illusive Man gave me purpose - a way to make a difference using my unique talents."

"I understand," and God help her, Shepard did. She knew what it was like, to need a purpose. If Lawson had been Alliance...

But she wasn't.

"I know you don't trust the Illusive Man, but he does truly care about humanity and stopping the Reapers."

"You seem certain."

"I am," Miranda said confidently, "you don't get to where I am without knowing how people work."

"I guess not." Shepard took another long sip of water. "I want to have a command meeting of sorts this evening. I'll see you there?"

"Of course." Lawson took the dismissal for what it was, standing - not forgetting the Tim Tams.

* * *

 

After being stuck in isolation for forty-eight hours, it was good to be standing again, Kal'Reegar decided. His side was still a fierce ache of pain where he'd been shot, but he was alive and he'd heal.

Chakwas had finally allowed him to leave the makeshift cleanroom and move around the ship.

Never thought he'd have his skin saved by a Cerberus doctor.

The door of the medbay hummed open. He looked up, expecting Chakwas or Tali'Zorah, but it was Commander Shepard who'd walked in. He hadn't really seen her since Haestrom. Tali had said she'd been busy on Illium, but there'd be an edge of concern to her body language.

"Kal'Reegar," she greeted, "good to see you on your feet. How're you feeling?"

He dipped his head. "I'll survive. The geth didn't shoot me properly."

"You'll just have to show them how it's done," Shepard replied. "Chakwas said you should be right to travel in a day or two, if you avoid firefights."

"Yeah, she told me."

Shepard ran a hand along the back of Chakwas' office chair, spinning it slightly. "I can have you on a ship before we depart or..."

"Or?"

"You could stay."

He blinked behind his faceplate. "I have a duty to my people."

"I know. But Tali...she can take care of herself, but I'd feel better if she had someone to watch her back, particularly if Garrus and I are both off the ship again. And our mission..." Shepard shook her head. "The Reapers won't leave anyone standing. Not your people and not mine."

He had a choice - something rare enough for a Marine. You went where you were told, shot who you were told to shoot.

"I don't trust Cerberus," he said bluntly.

Shepard spread her hands, "Join the club."

He could remain on a ship belonging to a human supremacist organisation and one that had attacked the Fleet no less - or he could return to the Flotilla alone, to the empty squadbay. Unless they'd already cleared his Marines' possessions out and moved in a new squad. The Flotilla didn't have the space for sentimentality.

"If I say no?" he asked.

"Then I'll put you on a ship tomorrow," Shepard promised.

Admiral Rael’Zorah probably wouldn’t be happy at Kal returning home after leaving his daughter surrounded by human supremacists anyway. “I’ll stay.”

Shepard smiled. “Welcome aboard, Squad Leader Reegar. I had your weapons stored in the armoury - I prefer no weapons carried onboard except for pistols, at your discretion. Would you prefer to bunk down with Tali and the engineers?”

“That’d be best,” he agreed.

“I’ll organise it. It’s good to have another Marine aboard.” They shook hands on it.

“Looking forward to it, Captain Shepard.”

Shepard’s tone was good natured, but edged. “Commander, if you don’t mind. Captain Shepard is my mother.”

“Your ship, your rules,” he said easily, “Commander.”

“I’ll let you get some rest,” she said briskly.

Squad Leader Kal’Reegar watched her go and wondered what exactly he’d gotten himself into.

* * *

 

“It’s good you’re here,” Joker told Tali, “the ship never runs right without you.”

“Daniels and Donnelly are very good engineers,” Miranda said from across the table. A handful of the ‘senior’ crew were crammed into the briefing room, waiting for their commander. It half reminded him of the old ship, though they’d had chairs on the SR1 and Pressly had been the only one from the Navigation Department to attend those meetings. Now Joker was here as the _Normandy’s_ second officer, along with the ground team, Chakwas, Guo from Supply and Hawthorne from CIC. He didn’t like the change - it meant Patel was flying again.

“Sure they are, but they’re not Tali.” They weren’t Adams either. Adams had always listened to Tali and the pilots both, happy to trial new configurations in order to get the most of the experimental drive core. Last he’d heard of Adams he’d been shoved over to BuShips, involved in what had to be the construction of more _Normandy_ class warships.

“Don’t worry, I’ll get the ship up to specs soon,” Tali said with an amused hum to her voice.

A flash of irritation crossed Miranda’s face, but she said nothing.

The door slid open to admit the Commander, Garrus on her heels. Those two were joined at the hip these days - Joker was starting to feel a little left out.

“Good afternoon,” Shepard ran a hand across the briefing table, intent on the holo of the Normandy glowing a soft orange in the middle of the table. “I’ll be blunt with you all. This ship - this mission isn’t being run the way it should be.” Silence. Joker suddenly wondered if he’d ever heard her call the SR2 by its name. Shepard continued, voice firm. “And a big part of that is on me. That changes now.”

She looked around at each of them in term, and Joker was relieved to see some of the familiar resolve he remembered from the Eden Prime War. Until now he hadn’t realised just how much was missing from their last mission. “I will give you my best - but in return I expect _your_ best.” At the back of the room, Jack rolled her eyes, but there were a few nods from the others. “This isn’t the Navy or CSec. We might have Cerberus’ backing but if we fuck up? There’s no cavalry coming. Whatever our differences, we need to be pulling in the same direction.”

It wasn’t quite her speech after taking command in 2183, but it got more nods this time.

“We’ll get the Collectors just like we did Saren,” Garrus said, voice ringing with certainty.

“We need intel,” Lawson said bluntly.

“The Illusive Man assures me he’s working on it,” Shepard said with a small, wry smile. “In the meantime we need to keep preparing. I can’t understate how dangerous this could be. We have no idea the true strength of the Collectors militarily, so we need to be sharp. I’m going to run you hard - ground team and flight crew. We don’t want all these civvies melting the moment we have to fight a Collector ship.” Her smile was sharp.

“Uh…yes, ma’am,” said Hawthorne, shifting uncomfortably.

“Here is one thing that concerns me in particular,” Shepard continued, “and that’s the ship.”

“The _Normandy_ is the pinnacle of shipbuilding,” Miranda protested.

“She flies like a dream,” Joker added. No one, not even Shepard, talked shit about his girl.

“She’s a fine ship,” Shepard agreed, “twice the size and faster than the SR1 - but she has the same armament and armour. Right now? She’s just a bigger target for the Collector Ship to hit.”

Joker opened his mouth and then stopped. _Ice sinking into his bones, the rush of escaping air. Bands of pain across his chest. Caroline’s mug bouncing past his face._

Shepard’s eyes met his and then skated away.

“The SR1 was ambushed,” Lawson said crisply, “under different circumstances the battle may have turned out differently. And we have EDI.”

Shepard’s expression was dark and unmoved. “You might be right. But the fact remains that I had the finest ship and the best crew in the Navy, and the _Normandy_ was destroyed without us getting a single shot off. I’m not losing another ship like that. If there’s anything that can give us an edge - tech, weapons - we need to utilise it.”

The next ten minutes devolved into a debate. Different modules were debated, discarded or added to Shepard's growing list. Shepard spoke little except to keep them focused.

"The Nashan Stellar Dynamics shielding system is more powerful than our current kinetic barriers -" Lawson began.

"Yes, but there's a reason they're not used on warships. They're suitable for ships looking for shielding against heavy asteroid impacts, not weapons fire, and the power draw is ridiculous. We need to balance the power grid if we're going to have a more powerful main armament. Multicore shielding is the way to go," Tali said resolutely.

"Multicore shielding?" Shepard asked.

"Yes. Instead of static fields, cyclonic barrier emitters create oscillating fields-"

"In Marine talk?" Shepard interrupted with a small smirk. She'd liked to interrupt the engineers and occasionally the CIC crew to tell them to 'dumb it down for us crayon eaters'.

"The kinetic barriers spin and slap away projectiles instead of just blocking them. It might even be effective against the magnetohydrodynamic weapons the Reapers and Collectors have been using."

"That's a big if."

Tali shrugged. "It's a better chance than what we have now, especially if we combine it with Taylor's suggestion of Silaris armour."

"The maintenance requirements of CBT are astronomical," the XO pointed out, "and we have only one Kinetic Barriers Technician."

"Perhaps Cerberus should've hired more then," Tali said acidicly and Joker grinned. She'd always had a fiery side, but the quarian had certainly gotten a steel spine in the last few years. Miranda glared at her.

"We'll have to cross train other engineering staff," Shepard's tone was moderated - defusing. "Daniels and Donnelly are familiar with traditional KBs and have already been assisting Perno with her duties. I'm sure they'll be fine with being cross trained on the CBT."

"Commander," EDI broke in. Now the AI thought it was part of the command crew. Wonderful. "I believe that Tali'Zorah and I can successfully configure the _Normandy_ with these new upgrades. However, while we could potentially install the new shield emitters ourselves, the Silaris armour will require removing the majority of the armoured hull and replacing it. In addition, at least one of the ship's magazine will require modification to store the liquid metal to be fired by the Thanix cannon. These modifications will require a drydock."

"If," Miranda stressed, "we can get our hands on the necessary tech, we can use the Bekenstein Cord-Hislop drydock. There's less oversight of corporate activities there."

"So Cord-Hislop is Cerberus," Joker mused, "your guesswork was correct when you kidnapped that Cord-Hislop engineer, Commander."

"It wasn't guesswork," Shepard said mildly, expression inscrutable, "and it's not kidnapping if I'm a Spectre."

"You shoved her in a trunk."

Jacob coughed. Miranda sighed, clearly deciding she wasn't going to ask. "That doesn't solve the biggest issue and it's that CBT, Silaris armour, Thanix cannons - they're expensive, classified or both. We're going to need a mountain of credits to purchase them."

Joker shrugged. "Isn't that what your boss is for?"

Miranda's perfect dark eyebrows drew together. " _Mountain_ of credits, Mr Moreau. And Cerberus is paying for most of our operating costs - and has already spent a great deal on building and..."

"Me," Shepard's smile was humourless, "So I'm guessing the Illusive Man isn't just going to cut me a check."

"We're not the only cell he has to fund," Miranda said - almost apologetically.

"So what are our options?" Shepard crossed her arms. Her eyes glowed a faint, unsettling red in the white light of the briefing room. If he looked carefully Joker thought he might be able to see circuitry laced through the brown of her irises.

He preferred not to look. If he looked, that little, pitiless voice in his head piped up again. The one that said that every scar on Shepard's body was his fault. And then he'd be right back there again, after the investigation, with his Letter of Reprimand in hand and Anderson's steady, disapproving eyes on him. That look from the Commodore that had said he'd kept Joker from being court martialed, but he wasn't going to save his career.

"-can always use the ship's survey equipment," Miranda was saying, "There's dozens of unclaimed planets in the Terminus and Attican Traverse. We could scan them and sell the mineral claims on Omega or Illium."

“Ugh. Planet scanning? Did I join the Exploration Flotilla while I wasn’t looking?” Joker broke in.

Miranda shot him one of her unimpressed looks, but Shepard smirked. “We haven’t taken nearly enough bribes to join the Exploration Flotilla. Or," she raised a thoughtful eyebrow, "participated in enough orgies.”

"Man, I really joined the wrong part of the Navy," Joker grinned back.

"Commander," Miranda said plaintively. Mordin looked bored, Garrus and Jacob amused.

"You can take the girl outta the Marines but not the Marine outta the girl," Shepard said unapologetically.

"Here I was thinking you Alliance types were all Scouts. 'Defending humanity' and all that shit," Jack drawled from where she'd propped herself against the wall.

Shepard shrugged. "All the shiny uniforms and dramatics about 'honor' and 'duty' are usually left to HV shows. Ninety percent of military service is waiting around for something to happen, slideshows and pretending not to notice your bunkmate's porn preferences."

"My old lieutenant had a thing for elcor," Jacob said with the tone of a man who has seen terrible things.

"As fascinating as this is," Miranda said, voice dry, "can we get back to the task at hand?"

"Right. Planet scanning. There's also a lot of bounties posted for pirates in the Traverse and the Terminus - and that helps protects the colonies if we have the time."

"The Alliance won't pay Cerberus prize money," Jacob said doubtfully.

"Not knowingly," Shepard said with a grimace, "but I have...contacts on Omega thanks to my special operations career who we could route the money through."

"Eclipse?" Garrus said, mandibles tightening against his face.

_Eclipse_? Since when did Shepard have merc friends?

Shepard shook her head. "Privateers mostly."

"You trust them?" Miranda asked.

"Yes," Shepard shrugged easily, "might need to give them a small slice of the pie, but they'll do it for me."

The Cerberus agent nodded slowly. They'd gone a full half hour without Shepard and Miranda at each other's throats. That had to be a record.

"Now that's what I'm talking about," Jack's smile was knife-like. "Screw minerals. Let's shoot some fuckers."

"We're going to have to do both, but...I have an idea for a target. Ever heard of the Taharak Brothers?"

Jacob whistled. "You don't mess around, Commander."

* * *

 

Ashley stepped out of the dark briefing room, rubbing at her tight temples - always a sign of an impending headache. Would it really cost the Navy to install proper lighting?

"I don't like this, boss," Hernandez, now acting leader of Element Bravo, shook her head as her three NCOs followed Ash out the door. Hernandez twisted her wedding ring on her finger, a habit the Sergeant always had when she was thinking about something. "This smells like a trap."

"I'm with Hernandez," rumbled Charger, the tall Greek Staff Sergeant crossing his arms. "People like this Pacwanar just don't go rogue."

"Not all batarians are awful people," Sūn interrupted with a frown.

"He's the Hegemon's bosom buddy," Hernandez shot back, "and now all of a sudden he wants to give the Alliance intel? We're walking into the fire, Tyler. And the Spectre-"

"Your concerns are noted, Sergeant Hernandez."

The four Marines stopped and looked at the Spectre standing in the doorway. Ashley might've been somewhat famed for being one of two humans to have received the salarian Silver Dagger, but before this briefing she'd never met a female salarian before.

Saen Maetok looked as if someone had grabbed her by the feet and horns and stretched her out. Her skin was a mottled grey-blue and her eyes were quick-moving and liquid black, gleaming with intelligence. She had the look of someone used to being the smartest person in any given room.

"Ma'am," Hernandez mumbled, shooting an uneasy glance at Ashley.

Spectres were trouble. Ashley would know.

"This information has been thoroughly vetted by the AIS and STG," Maetok said, eyes focused on Ash - unwavering and disconcerting. "And Anhur is more the Alliance's turf than the Hegemony's at this point, yes?"

"I guess so, ma'am," Hernandez didn't sound convinced.

"I look forward to working with all of you," Maetok said pleasantly and then turned to leave - but not without another long, measuring glance at Ash.

The four Marines were silent as they watched her leave.

Then Hernandez snorted. "Think she has a thing for you, boss?"

"Salarians don't have a sex drive," Sūn said distractedly.

"They still have kids don't they?" Charge sounded very confused.

“ _Thank you_ ," Ash cut them off sharply. "Just...make sure the team is ready to go when it’s time."

"Aye ma'am."

Hernandez paused. "Is it going to be awkward now you and Flyboy broke up?"

Ash gritted her teeth. "Gabriel and I are both professionals."

Charger nodded. "So it's going to be awkward."

She groaned. "Get out of here, all of you."

Ashley left the twisting corridors of Navy Command behind for the cramped trams running between the busy government sector and her apartment. After her officer and N5 training, she'd first stayed in the base officer quarters, sharing a small apartment with Lieutenant Gema Wulandri, the Normandy's combat systems officer, who'd found herself stuck on fleet staff duty.

But then Gema had finally gotten a promotion to Lieutenant Commander and a CSO billet on a new cruiser, and Ash's relationship with Gabe had progressed enough that moving in together had seemed logical. He hadn't wanted to live on base - said he spent enough time around work as it was.

Now Gabe was gone and her apartment was inconveniently far from Hackett's headquarters.

On the tram she was just another faceless Alliance Marine in a metal tube full of them and bureaucrats, briefcase in hand. Shepard had always seemed at home on Arcturus, but even now Ash was a colonist. Sometimes she missed seeing the sky, smelling the scent of grass and dirt.

When she stepped through the sliding door of her apartment, tossing her briefcase on the counter and shrugging off her jacket, she was expecting to find Abby back from her conference. She wasn't expecting to find that her sister had company.

"Hey Boss!" Lance Corporal Alex Fredricks stood up from where he'd been sitting on the sofa with Abby, a lean twenty-one year old with sandy-blond hair in the Marine buzz cut. His son was on the floor, little feet kicking as he played.

She blinked. "Oh, hey man."

"He needed to talk to you," Abby explained, standing up as well to give Ash a quick hug, "and I recognised him from some of your holos, so I thought it'd be okay if he waited inside?"

"Can't leave this little guy outside," Ash replied, scooping up little Nick Fredricks. He giggled, smacking her cheek with a sticky palm, "How's my favourite godson?"

"So this is that Nick," Abby smiled, "didn't realise."

"Yep," Ash kissed the top of his soft head before putting Nick back down with his toys. Kid was named after Nick Ki-tae and had Jaz and Ash for godparents. Poor thing. "He's going to be two before we know it."

"They grow up quick," Freddie said, smiling down at his son. Freddie had never been a bad Marine - Captain Anderson wouldn't have picked him if he was - but he'd gotten into his fair share of trouble. Ash had quietly worried that he wasn't ready to be a parent at only twenty, but fatherhood suited him, even now his ex-girlfriend had moved back to Bekenstein.

"So, what's up?"

"It's just," the younger Marine shifted uncomfortably, "well, there's been some rumours and I was wondering if you knew the truth."

Ash pulled her hair out of its bun, rolling her head back. She always ended up with a headache after long meetings. "What rumours?"

"Well," Freddie's blue eyes darted between her and Abby, "People are saying the Commander is alive, and that she was there when Nassana Dantius was murdered on Illium."

There was only one person 'the Commander' referred to for the former crew of the SSV Normandy.

"Wait, Shepard?" Abby asked, shocked. She'd been the only sister Ash had confided in, after the funeral. She thought her mother might suspect but she hadn't asked.

"Yeah." Ash said softly. Her heart twitched in her chest like a wounded thing.

"Yeah as in you've heard the rumours or-" Freddie began.

"Yes, as in she's alive," Ash snapped.

"Oh," Abby's expression was far sympathetic for Ash's comfort, "Is that why-?"

"Yes," Ash cut her off. She really didn't want to have to explain the real nature of her relationship with Shepard to one of her former Marines, let alone add in her break up.

"Why didn't you tell us?" Freddie's expression was wounded.

"I was on a mission. What was I supposed to do? Put it in the groupchat?"

"Uh...yeah?" He raised his hands at her expression, "Thanks for telling me. I just...I don't understand."

"Neither do I," Ash said truthfully. "She wasn't exactly full of answers either."

Abby stood up briskly, "I was going to cook for Ash-"

"You don't need to do that," Ashley protested.

Abby ignored her. "Would you like to stay for dinner, Alex?"

He rubbed the back of his head. "Thank you, ma'am, but my parents are on station and they'll kill me if I take their grandson time away from them."

"They coming around then?" Ash asked as he started packing away Nickie's toys into a bright blue backpack. Freddie's parents hadn't been exactly happy when he'd first enlisted instead of going to business school and then gotten his girlfriend pregnant at nineteen.

Freddie smiled boyishly and jerked a thumb at his son, "Kid's doing most of the hard work to tell you the truth, Boss."

"I'll walk you out."

She waited until he'd finished gathering everything and scooped his toddler into his arms and then walked him to her door.

"Freddie?"

"Yeah?" he paused in the doorway, Nick perched on his hip, fist in mouth.

"How long left on your contract?" He’d been one of her Marines, but Alchera had been the last straw for him. He’d left the Raiders for a more sedate posting aboard Arcturus, assigned to the everyday maintenance of the giant space station.

"Eight months. Six months before I go on terminal leave. Why?"

"If I were you," she said seriously, "as soon as you get out, take your son and leave Arcturus. Plenty of work for an engineer on colony worlds."

His mouth flattened into a line. "You think it's going to happen soon?"

"I'm not sure," she said honestly, "could be a year, could be ten. But...yeah. And Arcturus? We both know it's going to be a target."

“I’ll keep it in mind,” he promised.

She watched him leave and then turned back into her apartment - and the painful conversation with Abby surely waiting for her.

* * *

 

**Codex Entry**

Intelligence Briefing on the city of New Thebes, Anhur

To: First Lieutenant Ashley Williams (a.m.williams@samc.mil.ex.sa) From: Sub-Lieutenant Robert Xu (r.xu@san.mil.ex.sa)

Lieutenant Williams,

Please find attached the report on New Thebes, Anhur as requested.

Sub-Lieutenant Robert Xu

Fleet Intelligence

-

ATTACHMENT

-

REPORT ON CURRENT SITUATION IN NEW THEBES, ANHUR

TERRAIN:

Predominantly urban, population estimate of 9 543 023 as of 2184 census.

Two major civilian spaceports receive off-world traffic. The terrain the city is built on consists of low-lying hills with Mediterranean climate, with dry summers and mild winters. The majority of reconstruction from the civil war in New Thebes has been completed, however there are politically segregated lower income sectors where ethnic conflict and poverty are common.

Approximately thirteen kilometres outside the city is the military base Camp Kelatash where the Anhur Army conducts infantry training.

Image: newthebesmap2185

ARMED FACTIONS:

**Anhur Armed Forces:** regular military force, consisting of predominantly humans and batarians. Most operational forces are based in Camp Kelatash, with high command based at the Defence Headquarters within the city. Forces in the vicinity of the city consist of the 1st Infantry Division, organized around one light infantry brigade and two mechanized infantry brigades, the 1st Special Operations Battalion, and the Senatorial Guard, a special close protection battalion stationed at the Planetary Senate building. Orbital defences include a battle station in geo-stationary orbit above the city.

The Anhur Army is of varying quality. Their light infantry is well-trained, with officers and NCOs who are veterans of the civil war and served with the now defunct Anhur Democratic Army or other anti-slavery militias, with high morale. However, there is an organizational lack of knowledge in regards to the use of IFVs and APCs in battle which have led to high casualties than expected when combating insurgents. The Anhur Army uses a mix of M29 Grizzly A and B models and Karag Mk II apcs. This mix of vehicles can hamper logistical support and troops’ operational familiarity.

Air assets in the New Thebes region consist of two gunship squadrons and two naval fighter squadrons. The Anhur Armed Forces operate A-61 Mantis gunships and F-61 Trident fighters.

Anhur’s government and its armed forces are considered friendly to the Systems Alliance and may provide covert assistance.

**Ke Na’Hesit:** Predominately batarian pro-slavery paramilitary force which rejects the ceasefire that ended the civil war. The Ke Na’Hesit are a splinter faction of the defunct Anhur People’s Liberation Army (APLA) after they were defeated in battle and their leadership agreed to the New Thebes Treaty of 2178. The long term aims of the Ke Na’Hesit are to reintroduce slavery and overturn the Republican government, casting their struggle as one for batarian cultural rights. They have staged bombing attacks on both civilian and military targets and so far have proved resilient in the face of determined policework.

Three batarian majority suburbs within New Thebes contain a significant Ke Na’Hesit presence - Kal’Tar, Riverside and Yuk’ares. Within these suburbs the paramilitaries are a de facto vigilante force, and violence towards residents who speak to authorities or are seen to associate with humans or anti-slavery advocates is common. Ke Na’Hesit paramilities are armed with an array of small arms including AT-12 Raider shotguns, Kishock rifles and M-8 Avenger rifles. The presence of Batarian State Arms weaponry suggests the Ke Na’Hesit are recieving some aid from the Batarian Hegemony government. In addition to small arms, there is evidence of Ke Na’Hesit personnel using rocket launchers such as the ML-77, mortars up to 80mm and guntrucks.

The Ke Na’Hesit are considered hostile to the Systems Alliance and may attempt to kill or capture Alliance personnel if encountered.

**Eclipse Private Military Corporation:** The Eclipse mercenary group maintains a small headquarters in the city of New Thebes. This includes recruitment staff and a small operational force of two companies, with the rest of the 22nd Battalion stationed elsewhere in system. Operational forces are involved in various government and corporate contracts, including training elements of the Anhur Army.

Eclipse operational forces in New Thebes consist of light infantry reinforced with LOKI and YMIR mechs, with a platoon of APCs and four gunships as support.

Eclipse forces on Anhur are considered neutral to the Systems Alliance. Due to the close ties between Eclipse and the colonial government, confrontation is to be avoided as much as possible.


	17. Hunter, Hunted

The _Normandy_ hung in space, clinging to the dark side of Quodis, streaks of green painted across the viewing ports as the planet slowly rotated. Joker drummed his fingers against the arm of his chair as Shepard loomed behind him in dark armour, subnosed carbine hanging over her chest, deep blue stripe down her arm.

"You know, this is giving me flashbacks and all. With the looming and everything." Joker drawled, tilting his head back to look at her.

"You're welcome," Shepard said mildly, staring intently at his holo display.

“There’s like, a captain’s podium and everything,” he pointed out.

“What can I say, Joker? I just can’t get enough of your company.”

“How long has the Alliance been trying to get these guys anyway?”

“A long time. I was even the N7 team leader on one. The cruiser we were on managed to corner them, but they used their old ship - the _Malatak_ \- to ram a fuel platform nearby and escaped on a shuttle while we were rendering assistance.”

“Jesus.”

“Yeah,” Shepard’s expression was flinty, “they’re not getting away this time.”

“Commander, we’ve got a contact matching the _Scourge_ ,” Hawthorne called.

“Bring it up.”

Most pirates were a dime a dozen, using converted freighters and other makeshift warships. For the most part that was all that was needed - point a gun at a merchant's head and they're not going to care what caliber it is. But it did mean if a convoy was unexpectedly guarded or the Navy caught up with them their ships lasted about as long as tissue paper in rain. That was part of why the Battle of Elysium had turned into such a slaughter once the Navy fleet had shown up.

This ship was no usual pirate ship. The Taharak Brothers were both funded by the Hegemony and successful in their sordid line of work. The _Scourge_ was a proper destroyer, with some length on the _Normandy_. The ship was painted a dull, menacing black, blunt bow with inlaid mass accelerator cannon pointed in towards Quodis. Like a cruiser, she had two cannons stacked on top of each other and running her length. Along her visible starboard side were four shuttered ports - torpedo tubes. At least she didn’t have broadsides like Alliance destroyers did - that would’ve made boarding decidedly _dicey_. Her wings were stubby, thrusters burning as she entered geostationary orbit above the gas giant.

Batarians never had any sense of style when it came to ship design.

“Wait for it,” Shepard breathed, her fingers drumming a quick staccato against the back of Joker’s chair.

In position, the _Scourge_ began to emit great sheets of light as she discharged her drive core into the gas giant’s magnetic field. For a destroyer, it would only take twenty to thirty minutes to finish discharging.

But that was thirty minutes where the pirate ship had to turn off its sensors and weapons - not usually a problem when they could check sensors to make sure no armed ships were in their vicinity.

A much larger problem when the _Normandy_ was around.

“CIC, do you have those firing solutions?”

“Yes, Commander. Firing solutions for main battery and main thrusters submitted to Mr Vakarian.” Hawthorne’s voice was a little shaky.

“Good job.” Her voice sharpened. “Tactical, lock target, torpedo launchers one through three.”

A lot less launchers than they’d used with the SR1, but they weren’t trying to destroy the Scourge - and with her shields down a full torpedo barrage would leave only scrap metal.

“Target locked, torpedo launchers one through two,” Garrus’ voice rasped over the ship’s commline.

Joker swung the _Normandy_ around, presenting her bow to the pirate ship’s starboard - a small target, even if the _Scourge_ shouldn’t be able to see them. Not yet.

“Fire.” Shepard said without inflection, her fingers tightening on the back of Joker’s chair until the leather creaked.

“Easy on the chair,” Joker grumbled but she ignored him.

“Firing,” came Garrus’ voice, just as calm.

Two pairs of torpedos leapt from the torpedo racks bolted onto the _Normandy’s_ outer armoured hull, cutting through the dark space in between the two ships - four flashing dots on Joker’s LADAR screen. The first two crashed into the Scourge midships. Metal tore and twisted, a whole section of armour spinning free and tumbling down towards Quodis. For a few seconds oxygen rushed out of the hull breach in a cloud before the pirate ship’s emergency KBs kicked in. Joker heard his seat groan as Shepard’s fingers clenched again.

The last two torpedos impacted the _Scourge’s_ stern - right where the stubby wings holding the ship’s main propulsion thrusters were. One thruster sheared off completely and the other sputtered and died, a gash of metal torn out of it.

“Disengage stealth. They know we’re here now, no point building the heat.”

“Disengaging stealth,” Joker’s hand flew across his controls.

“Bring us in. I don’t want to lose this ship.”

Even now, without her primary thrusters, the _Scourge_ was beginning to drift deeper into Quodis’ gravity field. At a certain depth within the gas giant the ship would be crushed like a soda can. Shepard thought it likely there were slaves onboard - and besides they wouldn’t get the full bounty without clear proof they’d killed the Taharak Brothers. They’d have to couple the _Normandy_ to the pirate ship and use his girl’s engines to keep both ships in orbit.

“Roger that.”

“Have you gained access to their computers yet, EDI?”

“Standby,” the AI replied.

He eased the ship closer, burning the hundreds of kilometres between them in a matter of minutes. He cut the burn, drifting towards the _Scourge_ gracefully, maneuvering thrusters flaring to twist Normandy in a graceful pirouette, lining her side up with the cratered starboard of the destroyer.

“Their weapons are coming online!” Hawthorne’s voice was frantic.

“Shit,” Joker swore, seeing the telltale glow building on the undamaged bow. You couldn’t dodge a direct energy weapon -

Shepard leaned forward to hit the shipwide PA. “All hands, brace-”

The _Scourge’s_ remaining starboard GARDIAN laser lashed across the _Normandy’s_ side in a flash of angry red, biting deep into her portside wing. The entire ship shuddered around him with a drawn out metallic groan. For a moment, Joker felt his whole chest squeeze with panic.

Bands of pain wrapped around him, chair creaking until it had to break, had to let him fall into the endless sky -

“EDI!” Shepard pushed herself off the bulkhead she’d stumbled into.

“I have control,” the AI said smoothly, mechanically, “disabling external weapons. I have control of the starboard airlock.”

Shepard drew in a breath. Her hands were shaking as she hooked her thumbs into her webbing, but Joker looked away, as if he hadn’t noticed. She wouldn’t appreciate him drawing attention to it. “Good. Hawthorne! Damage report.”

“The armoured plating took most of it, but we have a fire in Primary Thruster Two - the damage control party is enroute.”

“Broadcast a demand for surrender.”

Joker winced at the returned language. “Yeah. He’s not taking the bait. Lots of uncomplimentary things to say about your mother though - all untrue. Your mother is lovely.”

Shepard shrugged. “That’s alright. I just get to introduce him to my shotgun now. Bring us in to dock, Joker.”

“With one thruster down, we might have trouble keeping both ships in orbit,” Joker warned, swiping away the multitude of alerts that had popped up on his screens.

“Then let’s hope Daniels and Donnelly know what they’re doing,” Shepard said lightly.

“Great,” Joker scoffed.

“You have the ship while I’m gone,” Shepard reminded him, “If you need to make the call, make it. I’ll evacuate the ground team and we’ll cut the rope.”

“I sure as hell will.”

She managed a smile, patting his shoulder carefully and then fitted her helmet over her head with a hiss as it sealed. When she opened the PA again, her voice came out mechanized by the helmet’s speakers. “Hands to boarding stations, hands to boarding stations.

“Good luck, Commander,” he told her.

“Don’t crash the ship while I’m gone.”

* * *

 

“Remember your assignments,” Shepard said evenly to the gathered members of the Normandy’s ground crew, face hidden by her dark visor. They were a motley crew - less of an army than even the Blue Suns were these days, Zaeed decided, checking the heatsink was seated properly in his Mattock. Overheating was a rookie’s mistake and if there was one thing Zaeed Massani wasn’t, it was that. They were all in armour, sure, but it was a riot of different colours - from Jacob and Miranda’s black, white and gold armour to Jack’s profanely graffiti-ed hardsuit to Shepard’s N7 black and Alliance blue.

As long as he got paid, he didn’t give a rat’s ass who was loyal to who. The Illusive Man was the one paying the bills.

“Alpha Team assaults the bridge, Bravo assaults their engineering compartment, Charlie holds the airlock.”

There were two ways you could go about capturing a ship in a boarding action. You could methodically clear each deck if you had the manpower, though that was a bit of a fool’s game, especially on larger ships, or you went straight for key compartments like the bridge, CIC, gunnery and engineering. Most captains surrendered once they were facing down the business end of a rifle.

“Yeah, yeah, we get it,” Jack shifted on her feet, “let’s just fucking get to it already.”

“Zaeed, Grunt, you’re with me on breaching. Samara, Jack, I want biotic barriers up.”

“Oh come on,” Jack snarled.

Shepard turned and stared her down. “I’m not asking. Barrier or you can fuck off back to your hole.”

“Fuck, fine, whatever,” Jack turned away, waving a hand, “have it your way.”

“I will,” Shepard said pleasantly, “thank you.”

“Commander, we’ve secured the _Scourge_. I’m moving to help the damage control party.” The quarian girl’s voice hummed over the intercom.

With Donnelly, Daniels and Rakova busy dealing with the fire - three of the four former Alliance engineers on the ship, Tali had led a handful of very twitchy civilian Cerberus crewmembers to secure the _Scourge_ to the _Normandy_ using thick metal cables with heavy duty electromagnets. Privately Zaeed had thought the Cerberus crew might lose their nerve, but at least the quarian knew what she was doing.

“Good job, Tali,” Shepard replied. “Stack up! Samara, Jack, barrier up!”

Zaeed found himself shoulder to shoulder with the N7’s painted shoulder, flashbang in hand. Grunt’s huge form was on Shepard’s other side, shotgun raised and pointed at the other side of the airlock. A bubble of purple-blue coelesced around them, rippling in the harsh white lighting of the Normandy’s airlock.

In every other boarding action Zaeed had taken part in they’d had to use shaped charged to blow the airlock - no one was going to just bloody invite boarders in for tea. Now, the damned AI did all the work. The stark red of the lock light simply shifted to green and the heavy outer door shifted with a low groan of metal. Thick smoke billowed through the cracked door, dark grey and acrid.

His ears filled with the whine of rifle fire, the air thick with bullets, the biotic shield around them shuddering with each impact. He heard Jack curse behind them as she and Samara struggled to keep the shield up. He tossed the grenade forward, each bounce metallic, followed by Shepard’s own flashbang. They went off in twin flashes of burning white.

Zaeed blinked at his helmet’s HUD, turning on the thermal filter of his visor - transforming his view into a stark landscape of black, white and greys.

“Charging!” Shepard announced - and was gone in a thundercrack of light.

Laughing, Grunt barrelled in after her, the deck trembling with each heavy footstep. Zaeed plunged into the smoke and into chaos, rifle raised.

The smoke was too thick to see anything, flames licking up one of the hard-angled bulkheads. On his visor he saw a flash of white heat and snapped around, squeezing off two shots. The figure staggered, fell - but kept wriggling, trying to reach a fallen rifle. Zaeed fired again, perfunctorily, into the pirate’s head. This time there was no movement. Around him he could see the blue-tagged forms of the _Normandy’s_ disparate ground team flooding into what had to be the Scourge’s mess hall.

A few tables had been overturned for cover. Zaeed heaved himself over the nearest one, smashing down with the butt of his rifle on the nearest pirate, hard enough he felt the casing crack. The batarian went sprawling, shotgun spilling out of his hands. Zaeed stuck the muzzle of his Mattock right where the top two eyes would be, close enough that the slaver’s shields wouldn’t trigger, and pulled the trigger.

“Goronak!” with a jumbled shout, his friend flung himself at Zaeed, battering at his chest and head with his armoured fists.

Zaeed pushed him off with a solid shove to his chest, getting just enough room to pull his pistol free - trying to use a rifle at this range was a fool’s game. He squeezed the trigger and the man howled, clutching at his bloodied abdomen. Zaeed raised the pistol again.

Through the swirling smoke and fire appeared a huge, blue-tagged form. Grunt’s hands came down around the battie’s head and squeezed. His terrified screaming cut off with a wet squelch.

Grunt laughed, a low, menacing sound, as blood ran down his gauntlets. Zaeed holstered his pistol and raised his Mattock again, but the fighting was dying down.

Shepard appeared, a shadow in the smoke, just as Garrus called room clear. Her arms were also bloody - like murderous mother, like murderous son, it seemed. Her eyes flicked down at the mess Grunt had left behind and she just sighed heavily. “Anyone injured?”

It was a surprise when no one spoke up, if Zaeed was honest. Boardings were usually bloody affairs. Might still be.

“Charlie,” Shepard slid a new heatsink into her shotgun, “see if you can get the fires in here out and seal off that bulkhead - we can’t vent their gunnery from here, so I’ll need Bravo to do that once they hit engineering.”

Shepard and Garrus had decided on putting two torpedos into the Scourge’s main gun which ran in between decks two and three. Cripple the beast and all, even if the only airlocks they could use were also on deck two.

“Miranda, I’ll send any serious wounds back to you and Mordin. Just hold this airlock.”

“Understood, Commander,” the Cerberus agent replied.

“Alpha, Bravo, let’s get moving. We’re outnumbered here - don’t get bogged down and remember your objectives.”

“Affirmative,” Garrus replied, “Zaeed, Kal, Samara! Let’s go.”

They made their way towards the elevator shaft connecting the three decks. After a quick scan with his omnitool, Kal’Reegar shook his head. “They’ve locked the elevator down. It’s what I’d do if I was fighting boarders.”

Zaeed hadn’t meet too many quarians who were worth much as soldiers, but Reegar spoke and moved like a veteran. At least he wouldn’t panic or fuck up.

Vakarian nodded. “We’ll have to use the maintenance wells.”

“Well,” Zaeed grunted, “I’ve got grenades.” At least they were the team going down.

“Do it,” the turian replied as they clustered around the dark hole of the maintenance ladder. The deck was lit by sullen red emergency lights.

Zaeed pulled the pin on the grenade and dropped it down the shaft. He grinned to himself when he heard panicked voices echoing up the tube of metal in the moment before the frag went off.

“I will go first,” Samara said in a calm tone that left no room for argument. The asari stepped off the edge of the deck, wreathed by light, and sedately drifted downwards.

Vakarian leant forward, peering after her. “…huh.”

Zaeed shrugged in response.

“I’ll go next,” Vakarian decided, “Zaeed, after me. Reegar, you’ve got our six?”

“Affirm,” the quarian said simply, checking his carbine over. Behind him, Zaeed heard the hiss of someone using a fire extinguisher.

The turian disappeared into the smoky haze next. Zaeed waited before swinging himself down, rifle safely magnetised to his back, and into the maintenance ladder-well, metal grinding against the ceramic of his armour. He blinked away the thermal filter. The ladder-well was dark, lit only by the beads of emergency lights - just enough light to see where to put his hands and feet.

When he got to the bottom he had to step over a few corpses. Two were riddled with shrapnel - the other had been propelled into a wall, leaving a bright red smear across the utilarian dark-painted metal. They were in a raised platform overlooking the darkened cargo hold with two doors either end and one set into the portside. All the labelling was in Camalan.

Kal’Reegar’s boots hit the deck behind Zaeed, coming to a stop with a spat, “Bosh’tets.”

The cargo hold had been divided up into what could only be two pens. A clump of sentients huddled in the back corner of one, all hunched shoulders and wide, white-edged stares. They didn’t move, pressed into each other for animal comfort, or make a noise. The slavers had carelessly tossed bodies into the other pen - whatever they’d been in life, they were now indistinct lumps with shaved heads in a pile. Left like garbage.

Zaeed didn’t consider himself a civilised man by any means. Leave the fancy cutlery and high minded bullshit about how war should be waged to the dickheads in suits back on the homeworld. But there was a goddamn line. If you had an enemy you shot him in the fucking face, you didn’t grind his soul to bits by sticking a control chip in his head. Vido hadn’t gotten that - all that bastard had seen was credits to be made.

Beside him, Vakarian’s claws curled into a fist.

“The schematics show main engineering is aft…so left,” Reegar announced, glancing at his omnitool.

The turian hesitated. “The slaves…”

“I can seal the doors,” Reegar replied.

“Having ‘em locked up nice and safe is for the best,” Zaeed rasped, “no way for ‘em to wander into the cross fire or do something stupid then.”

“And they might be chipped,” Reegar said, voice hard with experience.

“Do it.”

Reegar brought up his omnitool, three fingers racing. The door’s lock went a dull red. “Done.”

They stacked up on the aft door. Vakarian nodded to Samara, and the Justiciar ripped the hatch open with an elegant, outstretched hand.

“Stop!” The _Scourge’s_ engineers had armed themselves with pistols and submachine guns. One, a thick-set batarian in his middle age, had called out to them, a trembling pistol pointed in their direction. “One more step, two-eyes, and I’ll vent the cargo bay! There’s twenty dram’arek in there!”

The word he’d used had no real translation to English - a composite of slave, soulless and animal. In the Hegemony, even batarian Slave Caste were above alien casteless slaves.

Zaeed didn’t lower his rifle. Beside him, Vakarian went a deadly kind of still.

The turian’s voice was low with menace. “How about this? You lay down your weapons, surrender and I don’t _blind you_ one eye at a time.”

The engineer sputtered.

Zaeed chuckled. “He’s not joking, blink.”

After a moment, one of the other engineers tossed down his pistol, and soon the others followed suit. The middle-aged batarian was left alone, top set of eyes flickering uneasily between each of the Normandy crew members.

“Three,” Vakarian enunciated, raising his rifle,” Two…”

“Fine! Fine!” the chief engineer tossed his submachine gun down.

“Against the wall. Now.” Zaeed growled. Best to separate the pirates from their weapons - and the engineering controls.

“Go ahead,” Vakarian replied before keying his comm. “Bravo to Alpha, Engineering Control Room secured. Located approximately twenty captives and sealed them into the cargo bay for now, over.”

Shepard’s voice was tight with exertion but calm. _“Good job, Bravo. See if you can vent their gunnery - Charlie is having some difficulties with that fire and I don’t want to lose our egress point, over.”_

“Copy that. Bravo out.”

“I’m not Tali’Zorah, but I can have a look at those,” Reegar offered, “every quarian worth their suit knows something about ships.” After Vakarian nodded, the quarian crossed over to the controls, tapping at controls meant for five-fingered hands.

“The slaves,” Samara said evenly, stepping closer to the pirate chief engineers. Biotic energy snapped around her arms. Her calm was the kind you found standing in the eye of a hurricane. “Do they have control chips?”

Impressive woman, that one.

“Y-yes.”

Turned out even pirates who worked for notorious slavers could be scared shitless with an asari Justiciar in their face.

“Turn them off.”

“I can’t.”

Vakarian moved in a flash. The butt of his rifle crashed into the batarian’s jaw with a meaty thud, slamming him into the wall behind him. The turian grabbed him by the front of his grimy uniform, jamming him against the cold metal.

“Turn them off,” he insisted, blue eyes burning cold.

“Sosvin will kill me,” the man insisted, shrinking in the angry turian’s grip, naming Taharak Brothers. Sosvin was said to be a tall, brutal fucker, known for once spacing three members of his own crew. The other one, Ghamak, was the _Scourge’s_ captain. Equally nasty, just hid it behind a Noble Caste impersonation, complete with fancy clothes.

Zaeed chuckled. “Look, pal, our Commander is on your command deck right now. Sosvin is either dead or will be soon. And you’ll be dead soon if you don’t do as my friend here says.”

The batarian’s shoulders slumped. “…fine. I’ll need the console.”

“One wrong move and I’ll kill you,” Vakarian said, almost conversationally. The chief engineer swallowed audibly.

* * *

 

“Clear.”

The _Scourge’s_ CIC was unnaturally silent after the gunfire had ceased, bulkheads riddled with bullet holes and broken holo displays buzzing. Her grenade had taken out most of the CIC crew and the wounded hadn’t put up too much of a fight after that.

“Should we check to see if either of the Taharaks are amongst them?” Jacob asked.

Shepard shook her head. “Bridge first. Accounting for everything else can be done after we get their surrender.”

She turned, broken glass crunching under her combat boots, emerging from the silent CIC into a long, thin corridor of utilitarian grey. The ship’s machinery was a constant grind and buzz - she found herself already missing the quieter humming of the _Normandy_. SR2. Whatever. Grunt and Jack took up her flanks, Jacob on their six. It was strange to realise she trusted the Cerberus agent there now.

Sometimes she really wondered how a man like Jacob Taylor had ended up in Cerberus.

The bridge was one of these doors. She decided on the first one. They’d made it this far - they could clear a few compartments.

The room she strode into, Locust raised, was definitely not the _Scourge’s_ bridge but the cabin of someone important. Probably one of the Taharaks - the walls were paneled with kie’seth wood, a rare luxury from the batarian homeworld and there was honest to god carpet covering the deck, thick, garish orange carpet that her boots sank into. Whichever of the Taharak Brothers slept in this cabin, he lived like he thought he was a king, balanced atop a small, brutal kingdom.

An asari trembled in the corner, hands pressed to her chest. Shepard spotted the telltale white lines of scarring cutting through the pale blue of her neck. Familiar disgust roiled in Shepard’s stomach. She’d been on what felt like hundreds of anti-slavery raids and she’d never get used to this shit. Sometimes, seeing stuff like this, she could almost understand the Torfan Three.

“S-stay back!” the asari demanded. Blue light sheeted down her limbs. Shepard was a little surprised the slavers would give a slave an amp - but she was chipped so perhaps they thought she couldn’t turn on them.

Shepard took one hand off her lowered carbine to raise a hand. “It’s okay. We’re not here to hurt you.”

The asari glowed brighter, throwing a desperate hand in Shepard’s direction. The bedside table rose unsteadily off the floor and crashed into Shepard, hard enough the wood broke as it impacted her armoured body.

_Damnit_. Shepard staggered, gritting her teeth as pain spread across her smarting shoulder.

Grunt took two steps into the room.

“Don’t shoot her Grunt!” she shouted.

“But-”

The asari struck out with her biotics again - a wave of distorted gravity. Shepard forced her barrier out, redirecting the attack around her and Grunt, and then ran forward.

“Sorry about this,” Shepard told the slave sincerely, and then caught her with a right hook across the jaw. The asari staggered back, grabbing at her face and Shepard grabbed the autoinjector Mordin had supplied the boarding party with, pressing it to blue skin until it clicked and injected a sedative. She slumped slowly to the ground, blinking rapidly.

As quickly and as efficiently as possible, Shepard removed her amp, tucking it into her webbing, and then handcuffed her to the nearest bolted down object - the desk. Best to keep her restrained and out of the way while they finished clearing the _Scourge_.

“Please…d-don’t,” the asari managed.

“I’m sorry,” Shepard said sincerely, “we don’t mean you harm.”

“Don’t kill him,” she pleaded, “don’t kill Ghamak. He’s good to me.”

Shepard’s jaw clenched and she rose to her feet without another word.

“EDI, seal the door,” she ordered as soon as they were out of the cabin.

“I don’t understand,” said Grunt irritably, “why waste time with that? Why not just kill her for attacking you? She wants to die with her warlord - let her.”

Shepard’s jaw worked. “You do what you have to do to survive. Even if that means convincing yourself that the man that shoved a control chip in your head isn’t that bad, because maybe he doesn’t beat you _every_ night. But that doesn’t mean she’s not a victim or that she doesn’t deserve our protection.”

“Okeer would say she’s weak,” he grumbled.

“Okeer was wrong,” Shepard snapped, “he was part of an old, dead mindset, the same that led to the Rebellions. You can live and die by what he wanted you to be, or you can do something fucking worthwhile with your life.”

Grunt just looked at her with those startling blue eyes.

“Now, let’s go kill these motherfuckers already.”

He grinned at that.

* * *

 

The _Scourge’s_ cargo bay stank of blood and death as Mordin entered, kit in hand. Familiar smells, unfortunately - staple of special forces and medical career. Shepard had ordered the newly liberated slaves moved to the _Normandy_ and Doctor Chakwas’ care. The med bay was not quite sufficient for the delicate neurosurgery required to remove the spider-like control chips wired into their skulls, but Chakwas could help other ailments. The removals would have to wait for their repatriation to Council Space and the Alliance’s dedicated ex-slave rehabilitation centres.

Shepard had also ordered the surviving pirates confined to the _Normandy’s_ brig, where they were currently guarded by Operative Taylor and his security personnel, and the dead ones lined up in the cargo bay. The majority of the _Scourge’s_ crew had been batarian and the metal deck was slippery with red-brown blood. Mordin picked his way carefully over to the Commander and Operative Lawson.

Many of the boarding party members were slouching under the weight of their arms and armour, worn out by the battle. Mordin was not one of them. After the initial boarding, there had been little to do for Charlie Team beyond attempt to control the fire on deck two. Only injuries to other teams superficial, requiring only medigel and education on proper wound care. He would leave further pamphlet on subject in Jack’s quarters.

“…we don’t have the crew to run this ship, even on a skeleton crew,” Miranda told Shepard, “and if we want to get her capable of a Relay jump, it’s going to take time.”

Shepard had her helmet off despite the stench, hands hooked into her webbing. “I know. I say we sell the _Scourge_ at Korlus and keep going. We won’t get as much as we would on Omega - or if we hadn’t shot the thruster off, but it is what it is. We’ll still have to stop by Omega to offload the ex-slaves and prisoners though. We can do some scanning enroute, sell the mineral claims while we’re there.”

Lawson nodded.

Shepard turned at Mordin’s approach. “Can you gather the proper evidence that we killed those two?”

She pointed at two corpses set aside from the others. One was tall and muscular, encased in stark black armour with grey skin, red markings painted across his face. His chest had been crushed in - Grunt’s doing, or perhaps Shepard’s biotics. The other’s armour was ostentatious, gleaming in the stark white lighting. His similarly grey-toned face had been disfigured by the gunshot that had to kill him - jaw shattered and the back of the skull missing.

Mordin sniffed. “Better to have intact face for identification purposes, Shepard.”

“You can thank Jack for that.” Shepard pitched her voice so the woman in question could hear her. Jack raised her middle finger in response.

“Will do what I can,” Mordin said. Fact of warfare that not everything went as planned. To be successful had to adapt, overcome. Other methods of identification besides facial.

He leant over the dead batarians and raised his omnitool, taking holos, first of the full body and then the close ups of the faces. Then he knelt, lifting one limp hand and stripping off the armour to take a sample. Best to be thorough, allay any possible doubts. Once he was done Mordin straightened.

“Proper identification collected, Shepard. Should be adequate for Alliance Intelligence Service.”

“I’m sure it will be.” Shepard turned to her boarding party. “Alright, everyone into engineering if we’re done here.”

They packed into the Engineering Control Room, shoulder to shoulder, with the occasional jostle of ceramic scraping ceramic. Control Room not meant for so many heavily armed people, especially when one was a krogan.

Shepard stood at the console and opened the channel between bridge and engineering. “Bridge, this is Engineering. Beginning vent of cargo bay.”

“Copy.” The Normandy’s other pilot, Sarah Patel, and CIC officer, Thomas Hawthorne, were on the bridge of the _Scourge_ , navigating the heavily damaged vessel with the help of the _Normandy_.

“Venting,” Shepard said and pressed the button. The cargo bay ramp lowered, the roar of the sudden decompression dull through layers of metal, and the bodies were sucked into the void.

* * *

 

**Codex Entry**

Naval Report on the loss of the Systems Alliance Warship NORMANDY SR1 (unredacted):

From: Commander, Fifth Fleet

To: Commander, Navy Personnel Command

Subj: Preliminary Inquiry and Line of Duty Determination Regarding the Loss of the SSV NORMANDY SR1 on or about 12 December 2183

Ref: JAGMAN 2183

  1. I directed additional investigation into the reaction and damage control procedures of the SSV NORMANDY (SR1) following contact with an unidentified enemy cruiser on or about 12 December 2183 due to the swift nature of the vessel’s loss. The findings of this confirmed my initial determination that the deaths of twenty-two SAN and SAMC personnel and the woundings of twenty-one were injured in the line of duty and not due to misconduct.
  2. The crew of the NORMANDY should be commended for their response to the deadly situation they faced. Several Damage Controlman and Marines gave their lives to ensure the rest of the crew had enough time to evacuate. Others risked their lives to ensure shipmates got to escape pods.
  3. Through their swift, and in many cases heroic, actions, the crew of the NORMANDY saved many lives. There was no amount of damage control efforts that could have saved their ship after the initial volley; it is a testament to their skill and courage that the ship didn’t go down with all hands.
  4. I have accepted and passed on recommendations that seven members of the ship’s company be awarded medals for their actions during the battle.
  5. I am grateful to all those who assisted in the recovery and rescue of the surviving crew of the NORMANDY: in particular the crew of the SSV TOKYO (CR56) and SSV LEICESTER (CR34), as well as the personnel and civilian medical workers on the Citadel.
  6.  We must continue to care for and support NORMANDY’S crew as they deal with the loss of their ship and their shipmates.



ADM S HACKETT

Commander, Fifth Fleet

From: Commander, Fleet Strategic Intelligence Office

To: Commander, Fifth Fleet

This report was derived from discussions with crew members aboard the NORMANDY at the time of the battle, personnel familiar with the vessel’s unique properties, as well as the ship’s own records and procedures.

BACKGROUND

  1. The NORMANDY was the lead vessel of her class, a stealth reconnaissance frigate commissioned in 2183 and homeported at Arcturus Station on detached duty from the Fifth Fleet, as part of the Citadel Office of Special Tactics and Reconnaissance.
  2. The NORMANDY was equipped with the TANTALUS mk1 Drive Core and the Mk1 Internal Emission Sink stealth system. The Tantalus Drive Core is twice the size of the standard frigate’s ODIN Drive Core and generates mass concentrations the vessel ‘falls into’, allowing movement without the use of anti-proton thrusters. The IES system allows heat to be temporarily stored in lithium heat sinks, meaning the vessel is indistinguishable from background radiation to heat scanners. A NORMANDY class vessel can run for 4.5 hours in stealth while maneuvering, or for 3.4 days while passively drifting.
  3. The NORMANDY was 156 metres long and was armed with a singly 100m Mass Accelerator Cannon, four torpedo tubes and carried eight Javelin disposable torpedo launcher racks. She carried a crew of 62 naval personnel and a Marine Detachment of 11. At the time she was also carrying two contractors - Doctor Liara T’Soni and Tali’Zorah Nar Rayya, for a total of 75 personnel. She was under the command of Commander Emilia Shepard and her executive officer was Lieutenant Commander Charles Pressly.
  4. On 8 December 2183, NORMANDY departed Arcturus Station, having completed routine maintenance and rearmament. On January 10, NORMANDY arrived in the Omega Nebula before she departed on patrols to investigate reports of geth attacks on civilian shipping in the cluster.
  5. NORMANDY was operating in standard configuration for wartime cruising, including external lights dimmed and radio silence. She was at Condition 2 with weapons and sensors manned and the commanding officer, executive officer or navigator on the bridge at all times. She was set to Material Condition modified Zebra, meaning outer bulkheads were sealed to maximise survivability.
  6. Procedure as set by CDR Shepard was to enter a system and engage the NORMANDY’s IES system, ‘loiter’ in system for a period of hours or days to pick up hostile activity, then jump out of system via FTL and discharge before the next jump. On 12 December 2183, NORMANDY had recently completed one such cycle and was on approach to the planet of ALCHERA with IES system engaged in order to discharge heat and static build up.



ATTACK AND SEQUENTIAL CRASH INTO SURFACE OF ALCHERA

  1. The NORMANDY exited FTL near the planet of ALCHERA and engaged IES. At this time LTCDR Charles Pressly had the deck and F-LT Jeffrey Moreau was the flight officer on duty. Also present on the bridge were the Commanding Officer Cdr Emilia Shepard and CMC Monica Negulesco. Procedure set by CDR Shepard directed that at least two senior personnel be present at all times when exiting FTL in the Terminus Systems, a duty she preferred to personally oversee.
  2. Twenty-five minutes after engaging IES, the NORMANDY detected an unknown target fitting the classification of a heavy cruiser (see: Appendix A - Analysis of Unknown Enemy Vessel). This vessel immediately began an intercept trajectory towards the NORMANDY, despite the frigate being in stealth configuration, and began to use active sensors to locate the ship. Footage taken from the NORMANDY’s internal cameras confirms that the IES was engaged, and although it remains unknown how the NORMANDY was located in the first place, the stealth system doesn’t prevent location via active sensors.
  3. CDR Shepard immediately ordered General Quarters, meaning all weapons were manned, personnel donned hardsuits, kinetic barriers were powered to one hundred percent and Material Condition Zebra was set. However, the Commanding Officer did not take the deck from the Executive Officer.
  4. The NORMANDY was struck by weapons fire approximately six minutes after the encounter began. Her kinetic barriers were rapidly depleted (the crewmen that witnessed this attack first believed the enemy cruiser to be using a Direct Energy Weapon that bypassed NORMANDY’s kinetic barrier system, but analysis of recovered wreckage has determined that this weapon was in fact a magnetohydrodynamic weapon (MHDW) similar in design to the weaponry used by SOVEREIGN during the BATTLE OF THE CITADEL (2183)) (see: Appendix A - Analysis of Unknown Enemy Vessel).
  5. This initial volley destroyed the Forward Gunnery Compartment, killing Senior Gunner’s Mate Silas Crosby and Gunner’s Mate Addison Chase and severely wounding Gunner’s Mate First Class Soheila Attar, who was rescued by the damage control party. This volley also destroyed the Number Four Main Thruster and caused damage to the NORMANDY’s forward coolant tanks, causing the drive core to shut down to avoid a meltdown. This functionally left the NORMANDY without FTL capability (see: Appendix B - Analysis of NORMANDY Battle Damage).
  6. The following compartments suffered significant structural damage: Repair Locker 5, Main Control Room passageway, Berthing 2, Machinery Workshop 1, Forward Coolant Tank access, Forward Gunnery, Starboard Wing Maintenance access and the starboard Deck 3 Maintenance stairwell.
  7. After the enemy volley, CDR Shepard came to believe that with the NORMANDY’s weapon systems, drive core and shields offline that her ship was lost and that the best chance of her crew surviving was for an evacuation onto ALCHERA. She gave the order to abandon ship and for the emergency beacon to be launched. However, the beacon had malfunctioned and could not be automatically released. CDR Shepard asked CDR Pressly to remain on the bridge while she descended to Deck Two to manually launch the beacon. Essential CIC and bridge crew agreed to remain at their stations while the rest of the ship was evacuated. Non-essential personnel personnel began to evacuate.
  8. At this stage, the damage to the NORMANDY’s engineering subsystems had begun a cascade of failures, with life support systems beginning to fail. The crew had already been ordered to done life preserving equipment, but there were some members of the crew who were trapped due to damage when these systems failed. In particular the few escape routes from Deck 3 to Deck 2, consisting of one elevator and two maintenance stairwells, with the starboard stairwell impassable, hampered evacuation efforts.
  9. Approximately thirty minutes after the encounter began, an enemy volley connected with the NORMANDY’s Combat Information Centre. This caused a large hull breach and killed a large portion of the CIC crew, including CDR Pressly and CMC Negulesco.
  10. The following compartments suffered significant structural damage in this attack: Combat Information Centre, bridge, Executive Officer/Navigator Cabin, Briefing Room, starboard main access passageway between Decks 2 and 1 and Main Gunnery.
  11. At this point 1LT Ashley Williams, the Marine Detachment Commander and officer supervising the evacuation, informed CDR Shepard that F-LT Moreau was refusing her instructions to enter the remaining intact bridge lifepod and remained trapped in the NORMANDY’s bow. 1LT Williams offered to accompany CDR Shepard in retrieving the trapped officer, but was ordered to return to her supervisory role below. 1LT Williams followed orders and this is the last time she reports seeing CDR Shepard.
  12. It appears that CDR Shepard made her way through the destroyed CIC with the use of magboots and reached the flight compartment. She helped F-LT Moreau to the remaining lifepod. However, an explosion trapped CDR Shepard by the legs in the cockpit and she was unable to free herself. Before F-LT Moreau could remove himself from the lifepod to assist her, CDR Shepard hit the external ejection button for the pod. This likely saved F-LT Moreau’s life at the cost of her own.
  13. Approximately forty-seven minutes after the encounter began the TANTALUS Mk1 drive core detonated, causing minor damage to Escape Pods 1 and 5. The NORMANDY separated into four pieces and impacted with the planet of Alchera over the course of the next hour.
  14. Lieutenant Commander Nilsson, the ship’s Navigator, took command of the surviving crew. Over the course of the next two hours the crew landed on Alchera safely and set up emergency shelters. No pursuit was forthcoming by the unknown enemy vessel.
  15. Twenty-five hours after the engagement, the surviving members of the SSV NORMANDY SR1 were retrieved from the planet of Alchera by the SSV TOKYO and SSV LEICESTER and returned to Citadel Space. A muster of the ship’s company confirmed that twenty-one sailors and Marines were unaccounted for. Sergeant Amina Waaberi would die of wounds on Alchera before retrieval by the TOKYO.
  16. In total the ship’s company of the NORMANDY lost a total of twenty-two personnel, including their commanding officer, executive officer and Command Master Chief. The casualties consisted of three Marines and nineteen sailors. Twelve of the personnel killed were in the Command Information Centre, many of whom remained at their posts as the ship was abandoned. Six were members of the damage control party who remained at their posts to continue efforts to prevent a drive core detonation or nuclear plant melt down.



INJURIES

  1. The Chief Quartermaster received severe burns to the lower body. Ten other sailors suffered burns of varying severity.
  2. The Chief Gunner’s Mate suffered a compound fracture of the lower left leg.
  3. Four sailors suffered concussion and/or traumatic brain injury.
  4. Due to the disintegration of the NORMANDY and impact with the planetary surface, remains of twenty-one of the deceased were not able to be recovered at this time. Due to the near non existent likelihood any of the personnel still aboard the NORMANDY still being alive, I recommended to Navy Personnel Command that they be designated Killed In Action|Body Not Recovered until such time as body recovery operations can commence and this recommendation was followed.



**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up that I'll be updating in two weeks - I'm going to try and build a bit of a buffer.


	18. Business Trip

The journey to the Republic of Anhur from Arcturus Station was long, and made longer by both the need for caution as they navigated their way through the Terminus systems, and by the awkward air haunting her decks. Gabriel was too much of a professional to take their personal business out on Ashley while they were on duty, but he was still hurt and that disrupted any remnant of their previous friendship.

Ash had spent most of her time in the cargo bay taken over by her Marines as a makeshift squad bay, playing an omnitool version of Kepesh-Yakshi with Hernandez, working out, reading or planning with Sūn. Reading had always been a way to get out of her own head, and now her father was dead it was a way to feel close to him again. Sometimes she could almost hear his rough Texan drawl shaping the words.

“Lieutenant Williams, a moment?”

Ash looked up from her datapad, the frame filled with the face of a high ranking batarian. Colonel Dracor Pacwanar had a real soldier’s musculature and a reddish-brown complexion striped with black markings. Until a month ago he’d been the commander of the Aptorak Guard Regiment, an elite batarian infantry unit responsible for protecting important members of the Noble Caste. He’d grown up at the palace on Khar’Shan, confidante of the current Hegemon since he’d been a prince. And then he’d disappeared from his post before reappearing in the Terminus, contacting the Alliance and requesting extraction in return for intel.

Privately Ash thought Hernandez and Charger were right to be skeptical. The whole scenario had trap - or at least false intel - written all over it. But Admiral Hackett and Spectre Saen Maetok had both decided that he needed to be in Alliance custody, and when a fleet admiral and a Spectre agreed they generally got what they wanted.

“Ma’am,” Ash said cordially, looking up and into the salarian’s quick-moving black eyes.

The moment the Spectre had entered the cargo bay an air of prickly watchfulness had fallen over Hunter Team. It was a pack reflex - the way the Marines crowded together and studied Saen with suspicious stares. Spectres were trouble - Spectres were outsiders, and Ash was all too aware of the reputation too many of them had. That they didn't care about those they used as tools in their defence of CSpace stability. Spectres like Saren Arterius and Nihlus Kryik had been.

It didn’t matter was Saen was really after - if it came down the Spectre’s desires or her team, Ash knew what she’d choose. She cared about Hunter Team. They were hers. Her Marines, her responsibility. She wouldn't let their lives get tossed away as pawns in a bigger game.

It hadn't been like this with Shepard - the Normandy crew had never seen her as apart from them or as a threat. Maybe that had been Ash's mistake. Thinking Shepard was too Alliance, too charming, to be a danger. Or maybe it’d just been that Shepard had given Ash what she’d needed, deep down - first the respect from a superior officer she’d always craved and then the kind of love she’d never admit to always wanting.

Even now her heart wanted to believe Shepard had meant it, when they’d been together. Even after that stupid, short email.

“May we speak in private?” Saen asked.

“…Sure.” Ash tossed the datapad down and got to her feet, rubbing briefly at her twinging thigh.

“An injury?” Maetok asked delicately as they walked together out of the cargo bay.

Ash paused. The old pain was an unwelcome reminder of a very bad day. “I was shot in the leg, during Virmire. It still aches sometimes, is all. I’m medically cleared.”

“Of course,” the Spectre replied and Ash had the faint impression that she had already known that. She wanted to be annoyed at the games on top of the shitty month she’d had, but all she could summon at the moment was a tired impatience. Maybe her mother was right and she did need a holiday.

Work had been welcome after those first months post-Alchera. When it’d felt like she might drown under the weight of everything - Eden Prime, Virmire, Alchera - she’d been thrown what had felt like a lifeline at the time. OCS then ICT, then finally her assignment to Hunter Team and Hackett’s taskforce had felt like a way to not only prove to herself that she still had it, that she was still useful, but also to get her mind off the 2/12, Kaidan and Shepard. There was no time for overthinking when the bullets were flying.

Right now though? It just felt like she was being reminded by everything and everyone.

There wasn’t much space onboard the Achilles, so the corvette’s executive officer had given up her broom closet of a cabin to the Spectre. Maetok closed the hatch behind them. The salarian’s armour was spread on the bunk, glossy blue with the white Spectre symbol stenciled on the pauldrons. Ash was no tech whiz, but the shielding emitters looked strange - bulkier, with ten instead of the usual six to eight spread across the torso pieces.

If Saen noted her curious glances, she didn’t react.

“You seemed displeased when I went over the briefing,” Saen said, perching on the edge of the bed. She was all gangly limbs and sharp movement.

“I have some concerns,” Ash said evenly. _Namely that you’re going to get everyone under my command killed._

“Are they real concerns or are you just upset someone has usurped command of the mission?” the salarian asked evenly. “I understand you’ve had free rein under the command of Commodore Anderson, with little oversight.”

“Excuse me?” _Fuck me, I’m not in the mood for this._

“Answer the question,” Maetok’s voice was even.

“I’m worried that if this meeting is an ambush, the small team you’ve decided on will get killed before our backup can arrive,” Ash said flatly.

“It’s not because I’m a salarian?” Saen probed.

“What?” Ash blinked, “If you’ve read my service record you’ll see I’ve taken orders from a salarian before.”

“It was also said you had certain opinions on the rest of the galaxy.”

“Being wary of the powers that be when you’re a minority in a violent galaxy is just common sense. I won’t apologise for that. Not when we were left to fight the geth on our own until the last battle of the war.”

“Is that so?” Those dark eyes felt like knives.

“Yes,” she said shortly, “and even if it wasn’t, my politics are none of your damned concern. I have work to do.” She turned.

“Lieutenant,” Saen said, amusement buzzing in her voice, “has anyone ever told you have a temper?”

Ash gritted her teeth. _God grant me patience_. “Is there a point to this, ma’am?”

“Yes,” Saen replied, but didn’t elaborate. “I believe we’re almost to Anhur. If you could ask the captain for an ETA, it would be appreciated.”

“Aye aye,” Ash ground out. The abrupt shift between interrogation and courteous tone had her both seething and off balance. Fucking Spectres. She wrestled with that anger as she left the Spectre’s ‘cabin’, taking the steps up to the bridge two at a time. The Achilles’ bridge was a cramped rectangle of metal, viewing screens on the forward bulkhead displaying feeds from the external cameras. Unlike bigger ships the _Achilles_ had only four personnel on duty at the moment - Gabe, the Junior Officer of the Deck he was in the midst of training, a LADAR operator and the helmsman.

The deck went silent at her entry, Ensign Balcomb, the JOOD, eyeing her with something close to dislike. Balcombe wasn’t a guy Ash had had issues with before - he’d been polite to the Marines on previous missions - but it appeared the end of her relationship with the _Achilles’_ captain wasn’t doing her any favours in the eyes of his crew.

Gabe smiled awkwardly. “Great timing - I was just about to invite you up. We’re coming into the space port - just got approval to dock.”

From the spaceport, the eleven Marines and one Spectre would take civilian transport down to New Thebes - better to avoid the scrutiny the landing of an Alliance warship would attract.

Ash nodded. “I’ll go get my team ready to disembark.”

“Ash?” Gabe’s voice was tentative.

She paused. “Yeah?”

“Be careful down there.”

She managed a smile. “Of course.”

* * *

 

The civilian shuttle rattled through the atmosphere above New Thebes, enough Okri kept shifting uncomfortably. The young corpsman wasn’t the best of flyers as it was and he didn’t seem convinced by Terminus standards of maintenance. Of course, if it hadn’t been the Terminus there would’ve been no way Ash could’ve gotten so many guns onto a civilian flight, bribery or not. They’d painted their armour a dull grey and stripped it of Alliance symbols and rank insignia, shoving it into nondescript cases, and dressed in civvies.

She leant past a snoring Charger to look out the viewing port. The core of New Thebes was a thick cluster of skyscrapers, tall arcologies spearing up towards the yellow light of Amun. Past the skyscrapers the city descended into blocky suburbs of apartment buildings and compounds, and further still beyond that were the slums clinging to the city’s flanks. The sky was thick with traffic - cargo haulers, skycars, shuttles and even a three fighter patrol slicing above the thick streams of traffic. After all, life in the Terminus was dangerous and the peace on Anhur was still fragile.

Still, for a city that had been partially leveled in a civil war only seven years ago, New Thebes didn’t look too bad. The majority of the Anhurian government’s initial reconstruction efforts had focused on the capital.

“Welcome to New Thebes. Please have your identification ready when disembarking.” The voice was a deep growl - batarian.

The AIA had taken care of that for Hunter Team, so getting through the port’s security was relatively easy, even if it took some time with the thick crowds. The AIA detachment operating out of the Alliance embassy on planet had organised two skycars for them. Ash ordered Sūn to take one - a bulky, ten year old van - back to their rented apartment that’d be their home base for the hopefully short mission, along with most of Hunter. Once there they’d arm up and stand by in case the Spectre’s small team needed back up.

Sūn shot an indecipherable glance Saen’s way. “I don’t like this, Boss.”

“I know,” Ash began. Sūn worried worse than her mother sometimes.

“You keep frowning like that, you’ll get wrinkles,” Jaz interrupted with a smirk. Like Ash he was wearing civvies, a pistol under his jacket and a clip on generator on his belt. It was hardly the gear Ash wanted for walking into a potential ambush, but Maetok was very fixed on being ‘discrete’. Whatever. She drew the line at leaving their gear behind - she’d stashed her Saber and two assault rifles for Jaz and Hernandez in the boot of their skycar.

“Shut up, Jaz,” Sūn said, but there was no real bite to his voice.

“Get in the car, Jaz,” Ash said, mildly amused, “I’ll see you soon, Sūn. Keep that lot in line.”

“Always do,” her Master Sergeant said with a ghost of a smile.

“I’ll drive,” Maetok cut in as Ash reached for the driver’s side door.

She raised her hands, stepping back. “Be my guest.”

Ash, Jaz and Hernandez piled into the back, leaving the front to the Spectre, Jaz’s shoulder bumping into hers. It was a comfort, in a way. Jaz could be an idiot sometimes, but he was a good Marine and kind of like a little brother at this point. Sometimes it felt like that the bone-deep connection between the survivors of the _Normandy’s_ Marine Detachment had been the only thing keeping her together.

Maetok’s hands flashed across the holographic controls, the skycar humming as it rose into the air to join the glittering arcs of traffic crisscrossing the sky above New Thebes. She was silent, her cold contenance discouraging even Jaz from chattering. Hernandez stared at the back of the Spectre’s head with narrowed hazel eyes, like the sergeant was half-convinced the salarian meant to deliver them to the Hegemony herself.

Maetok drove them out of the clustered skyscrapers and new roads, into the dilapidated suburbs further out. Here, the war had left its mark. As the skycar set down in a lot, Ash spied slogans painted across brick and metal in a variety of languages both batarian and human.

 _Remember the camps of Sobek!_ One in English read, scrawled across a wall.

Maetok noticed Ash’s glances. “Both ideologies still have their proponents and even militias. This suburb is a mix of both humans and batarians - and thus a target. On a good day that means painting slogans.”

“On a bad day, shooting,” Ash guessed grimly and the Spectre nodded.

“But the war is over,” Jaz frowned.

“It’s rarely that simple,” the salarian replied, adjusting her heavy robes with one long-fingered hand, thick band of her modified omnitool wrapped around a spindly wrist. Beneath one fold Ash saw the flash of a knife handle. “After all, the Alliance and the Hegemony have never officially been at war.”

“Watch the car,” Ash told Jaz, getting the gun bag from the trunk. Maetok had parked so that Jaz would have a mostly clear view of the marketplace they meeting Dracor in if he needed it. Still, looking down at the thick press of people, the air thick with yelling in half a dozen different languages and the spicy scent of cooking food, Ash felt ready to crawl out of her own skin. This was fucking nuts. Was being crazy a requirement for becoming a Spectre?

Jaz gave her a thumbs up and heaved himself onto the bonnet of the car, kicking his heels.

“Follow me,” Maetok said.

Exchanging glances, Hernandez and Ash fell in behind her.

They plunged into the crowd. It was Friday - a traditional sale day it appeared and the shouts washed over her like pounding waves and she grit her teeth every time someone bumped into her. Her fingers clenched into a fist, the hard shape of her rifle inside the bag pressing into her back.

“In here.” Maetok ducked through a doorway, through a curtain of beads. The interior was thick with sweet-smelling smoke - and the clientele was almost entirely batarian, mostly older males, smoking out of long thin pipes of dark wood. One looked up at their entry, looking them all over with all four eyes in between chomping down on fried and spiced bugs of some kind. Whatever he saw, he didn’t like, his top pair of eyes flicking around nervously.

_Trust me, buddy, I don’t like this either._

A batarian woman approached, twisting her hands together, “Good afternoon and welcome to Jenak’s. Can I help you today?”

“We’d like a booth. The back one, if you would. And three glasses of calavia, if you have it,” Maetok answered. That was where Dracor had said to meet him.

The batarian woman hesitated and then nodded. She had a light brown face, skull striped with yellow. “This way.”

They were watched the whole way.

“Don’t get many humans in here?” Ash questioned, ignoring Maetok’s warning glare.

The batarian’s bottom eyes flicked towards her and then down to where her pistol was. “We don’t get many armed humans in the smoking house. Not ones that just want a glass of calavia, at least.”

“We’re not here to cause trouble,” Hernandez added in.

 

“I’m sure you’re not,” she said carefully, “it’s just been a hard couple of months.”

“People have attacked your clientele?” Ash asked.

She pointed out their booth. “You’re not from Anhur, are you? It’s - tensions have been higher, thanks to the Ke Na’Hesit. And because of all the humans coming in from the smaller worlds.”

“Because of the colony disappearances?”

She blinked all four eyes rapidly. “Yes. These are dangerous times. I’ll be out with your drinks in a moment.”

 _You have no idea._ “Thanks.”

The waitress brought them their drinks - glasses of cloudy purple liquid. Hernandez drank hers with obvious enthusiasm, so after a moment Ash sipped hers carefully. It was sweet with a faint sour aftertaste. Not bad.

The time for their meeting with Pacwanar came and went. Hernandez drummed her fingers on her thigh, eyes darting around the smoking house with a scowl. None of the middle-aged batarian males were the one they were waiting for.

“Look,” the sergeant leant forward, voice low, “he’s not showing. We should get out of here before someone tries to jump us.”

“Not yet,” the Spectre responded.

Hernandez huffed, leaning back in her chair. The batarian waitress came back with Maetok’s new order - a bowl of those fried bugs.

“Bugs? Really?” Ash wrinkled her nose. They looked close enough to cockroaches to make her feel faintly ill.

Maetok crunched one between blunt teeth. “I prefer crickets, but spiced Plains Beetles aren’t bad.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Ash said with a wince. She tapped out a quick message to Jaz on her omnitool and got a thumbs up emoji in response. He hadn’t seen anything to worry him yet, then.

After another ten minutes Hernandez shifted again impatiently. “This is ridiculous, Boss. How long are we going to sit around waiting for a guy who isn’t coming?”

“As long as I say we will,” Maetok said, voice low and dangerous. But Hernandez wasn’t easily intimidated - and she was looking at Ash. The loyalty was kind of gratifying, but it did put Ash in the position of having to convince her sergeant of orders she thought were ill-conceived.

Ashley drank the rest of her calavia, putting the glass down on the thick plastic table with a dull _clunk._ “We’ve come all this way, might as well see it out, Maria.”

The other woman grumbled, but subsided. Her hand lifted to her finger, as if to spin her wedding ring, but then fell again. They’d left all personal effects on the _Achilles._

“Excuse me?”

The batarian man who’d studied them when they’d first come in had approached their table, all four eyes flicking between Ash and Maetok.

“Good afternoon,” Maetok shifted her head in a way that meant respect to batarians.

“Are you Dracor’s friends?” he asked. He was nervous - his body screamed it even to Ash, whose knowledge of batarian language was passable at best. “It’s just- well, we used to smoke together, every afternoon since he’s been on Anhur, and I knew he had - troubles,” the batarian said delicately, “and he was waiting for some of his friends to come to New Thebes. Said they were some humans, and a salarian.”

Ash decided to take a risk. “Yeah, that’s us.” She affected a concerned frown, “He was supposed to meet us here.”

The batarian’s top eyes flicked around the room before refocusing on her. God, that was unsettling. “I haven’t seen him in a few days - and I went to see if everything was alright, and his landlord wouldn’t let me in.”

Ash and Hernandez exchanged glances. Maetok steepled her fingers, “Would you happen to have an address? We could go check on him.”

The batarian brightened, “Oh, yes, I’ll write it down for you.”

“Thank you very much,” Ash said sincerely.

“Be careful,” the old batarian warned, “that part of the city - it’s not very safe for humans.”

* * *

 

Dracor Pacwanar, Hegemony defector, had been staying in the New Thebes suburb of Kal’Tar. A run-down hostel was pretty far from the riches of the Hegemon’s Palace - and not for the first time Ash wondered what possessed someone to leave a life of privilege and ask for help from an enemy. She couldn't imagine doing the same.

Then again, for all its flaws the Alliance wasn’t an oppressive government like the Hegemony. Maybe even a Noble Caste batarian could lose faith.

Maetok parked the skycar outside the hostel. Everything in this part of the city was in batarian script - from the shop signs to the murals painted over nearby walls, the white paint stark against metal prefab walls. Kal’Tar looked stitched together - older brick homes patched with metal or plastic, intermingled with the prefabs, streets and pathways cracked and holed.

Everyone in sight was batarian, and not a one of them would look at Ash or her two Marines for longer than a few seconds, hurrying by with bowed heads.

This whole goddamn planet was its own tragedy, ignored by the wider galaxy.

Caught between sympathy and prickling uneasiness, Ash followed Maetok. The hostel was a cluster of prefabs, weeds growing in between bits of cracked concrete. Wary eyes followed them, conversations cutting off. Ash resisted the urge to reach for the comforting weight of her pistol.

Maybe two years ago she would’ve put her hand on her pistol grip, met those stares with a glare of her own. Now she just kept her eyes forward.

The landlord got up from behind his desk when they entered the reception. “Can I - can I help you?”

Maetok smiled smoothly, adjusting her heavy Sur’Kesh style travelling robes again. “We’re looking for a friend - Dracor.”

The landlord went very stiff. He was afraid, Ash realised. “I don’t know of him.”

Maetok sighed, sounding strangely like a disappointed teacher or parent. “Oh, Mister Khelash, you should at least make your lies believable, don’t you think? Is he here?”

“He’s not here, I swear. I don’t know where he went.”

“Then you wouldn’t mind if we took a look at his room?” Maetok’s smile was like a knife.

The batarian’s face hardened. “I think you should leave.”

Ash had had enough. She rounded the desk - he made a grab for something hidden under his desk, but Ash was quicker. She grabbed him by the wrist and twisted, propelling him into the wall with a dull _thump_.

“Ugh!” he squirmed, face smushed against the cold metal, but she had the leverage - and the gene-modded muscle.

“ _I_ think,” she said pleasantly, “you should let us have a look at his room and I won’t break your arm. Sound fair?”

“Blind you!” the batarian hissed back, squirming again - until she hardened her grip, twisting until he could feel the tension being applied to the bones of his forearm. “Fine! Just let me go!”

Ashley released him, making sure to keep herself between the batarian and whatever he had under that desk. For a moment....

For a moment she’d wanted to keep twisting. Snap bone like brittle twigs in the hope that it might release some of the anger and frustration churning around in her rib cage.

Instead she followed the man out of the reception and past the staring guests. The batarian’s hand shook as he unlocked the door.

A hurricane had gone through the cramped room. The dresser was tipped over, the HV fuzzing due to smashed projectors, fluff from the pillows strewn across the carpet.

“There’s blood,” Ash said flatly, kneeling. She could smell the rust of batarian blood soaked into the floor. A body had been dragged away, leaving smears of it.

“What happened?” Maetok asked, in that even tone. Her hand moved and then there was a knife in her hand, silvery and razor-sharp.

“I-I,” the batarian shrank back from the slight salarian. “They’ll kill me if I tell you anything.”

“Who? The Ke Na’Hesit?” The way he flinched told its own story.

“Did they kill Dracor?” Ash asked, straightening. The Spectre stepped closer to him, knife in hand.

He eyed the knife with one pair of eyes and the salarian with the other. “N-no. They took him. He killed one of them but they beat him and then took him away.”

“Fucking fantastic,” Ash grumbled, crossing her arms.

“Boss,” Jaz warned from the doorway, his hand falling to his pistol, “I think we’ve got company.”

Maetok turned away from the batarian landlord, sheathing her knife. “Our Ke Na’Hesit friends?”

“Well, they’ve got guns,” the Lance Corporal replied.

“Come out!” A rumbling batarian voice. Ash pressed her shoulder to the doorframe and glanced out. Ten batarians were clustered in the hostel courtyard, all of them carrying weapons - six with what looked like batarian rifles and four with a variety of pistols and shotguns - and all of them encased in battered red hardsuits, a white symbol scrawled on the chest.

Ke Na’Hesit alright.

“I suggest you go to the back of the room,” Ash told the shaking landlord, “get down and stay down.”

Maetok strode out of the door and down the stairs, ignoring the guns pointed her way. Ash swore softly to herself before following, Jaz and Hernandez at her back. The salarian spread her long-fingered hands. “Is there a problem?”

The leader of the Ke Na’Hesit sneered, showing long, sharp teeth. “Humans aren’t welcome here.”

“I must’ve missed the sign. My bad,” Ash remarked dryly. She was very aware she wasn’t wearing a hardsuit and her rifle was in the bag Hernandez was carrying.

“There’s no need to bring guns into this,” Maetok continued, “How about you just tell me what you’ve done with my friend Dracor and we can all move on, hmm?”

The militiaman smirked. “That traitor? Don’t worry, we’ve got him well in hand. He’ll get what he deserved. Blinded one eye at a time and then shot is my preference.”

“I see.” The moment stretched - then shattered as Maetok’s hands flashed, tossing two oblong objects down at the Ke Na’Hesit’s feet. One went off with a sheet of flashing lightning - shorting out their shields. That meant there was nothing to protect them when the incendiary grenade went off.

The leader died screaming as the heat ate through plate and into flesh. The air stank with it.

Almost without thought Ash pulled her pistol out in a flash and fired off two rounds, winging one of them. He shouted in pain, clutching at his shoulder - but then the surviving batarians were opening fire. The impacts lit her shield up in flashes of light. Their clip ons wouldn’t last long - no shields would, but these weren’t even hardsuit shields.

“Get down!” she shouted, throwing herself forward, hand hooking into Hernandez’s shirt and pulling the other woman with her. They fell behind a weed-filled concrete planter, concrete grinding against Ash’s forearms before Hernandez’s weight crushed the air out of her lungs.

Dazed, she gasped for breath as the other Marine got off her and fired her pistol a couple of times. Ash pushed herself to her knees, cracked concrete sharp against her palms.

“Here!” Hernandez shoved her rifle at her. Ash’s fingers, slick with blood, had just wrapped around the Saber when a batarian appeared, looming over her, assault rifle raised. He twisted to aim at her - but Ash was faster, squeezing off a shot before he could. At this range, the round tore a fist-shaped hole in his chest plate. He choked wetly, mouth bloody, as he collapsed. She shot him in the head to be sure.

“Jaz!” she called out, “You alright?”

“Yeah!” he shouted back from above her. He’d ducked back into the hostel room, using the doorframe for cover. Hopefully the prefab’s metal would hold up. She could hear the sound of bullets chipping away at the concrete they were crouched behind.

She couldn’t see the Spectre.

She popped up, fired. They were low on heat clips, outnumbered and unarmoured. A little fucking warning from said Spectre would’ve been nice.

“Mierda-” Hernandez’s bitten off curse was her warning. Two more batarians had moved in on them, the other Marine tangled with one while the other jostled, trying to find room to shoot the Marine sergeant.

Ash fired. His shields had recharged, deflecting the projectile. He threw himself at her, hand going for her throat, her Saber caught between them. He squeezed, lights dancing across her vision as oxygen was cut off.

 _Fuck this shit._ She slammed a knifehand down on his elbow, weakening the hold and stuck out with the other hand, gouging at one of his eyes. Plenty of targets and the dumbass wasn’t wearing a helmet.

He howled, staggering back, and that gave her enough room to pull her pistol free. They were still close enough together that his blood splattered across the front of her shirt.

She turned. Hernandez was still grappling with the other batarian. She raised her pistol again, trying to get a shot -

The air behind the two flickered and Maetok appeared. The salarian reached out with a hand encased in orange light and touched the batarian. He shuddered and then collapsed as an electric shock ran through him.

Hernandez fell against the concrete, holding her right arm gingerly. The limb hung wrong. Ash and Maetok ducked down as the surviving Ke Na’Hesit opened fire, shields sparking.

“Think it’s dislocated,” Hernandez panted, sweat beading on her face.

“Just keep your head down,” Ash told her. She popped up just long enough to see where the surviving batarians were.The deaths of four of their friends had taught them caution - the surviving six had taken cover in the lobby and were shooting at them from the windows and door frame. They were laying down enough fire that approaching even with a tactical cloak would be a suicidal idea, and as soon as one of them got brave enough to throw a grenade or try to flank them it’d be over.

She craned her head, looking for a way out. The hostel was fenced in with chain-link topped with razor wire. Climbing it wasn’t an option, especially with Hernandez’s arm.

“Hey Jaz!” she called up. “There’s a fence down here. If I give you cover, reckon you can put a hole in it?”

“Hell yeah,” Jaz said.

“Leaving, are we?” Maetok’s glassy eyes turned to her.

Ash scowled. Her forearm throbbed in time to her heartbeat - something had torn a large gash down her arm. “If you want to stay here and play with the batarians, be my guest. I’m getting my people out of here.”

If there was one thing Shepard had taught her that was worth holding onto, it was that you only fought when you had to.

“Teke will need covering fire,” Maetok said simply, lifting her omnitool encased hand to fire a blast of plasma in the direction of the Na’Hesit.

“On three, Jaz!” she called up to him, “You too, Hernandez.”

The Marine sergeant nodded, shoving her rifle back into the bag and swinging it over her good shoulder.

On _three_ Ash popped up again, firing blindly at the batarians. Beside her the Spectre did the same, her pistol a steady _pop-pop-pop_ in Ash’s ringing ears.

Jaz clattered down the stairs, omnitool bright around his wrist, and sprinted for the fence. Hernandez wasn’t far behind him, gasping with each step that jostled her dislocated shoulder.

Heatsink and shields expended, Ash knelt back down. That’d been the last heatsink on her. She had five shots left in her pistol.

“Well,” Maetok said calmly, “now we know where to start looking for Colonel Pacwanar.”

Ash huffed something that was almost a laugh. “We need to get out of here first.”

“We will,” Maetok’s voice was confidence personified. She rose to her feet and tossed out another grenade - this time a smoke grenade that filled the courtyard with thick, roiling grey smoke. “Come along then, Lieutenant.”

Ash pushed herself to her feet with stinging hands and followed the Spectre into the smoke.

* * *

 

**Codex Entry**

Anhur Rebellions: The Anhur Rebellions was a two year civil war throughout the Amun System, centred on the Terminus world of Anhur. Anhur, containing a mixed population of batarians and humans, was a long a slow-burning hotbed of ethnic and political strife, with the First Republic’s government heavily influenced by corporations on planet. Fearing economic irrevelancy, a consortium of corporations lobbied the government to abolish the minimum wage, effectively legalising slavery. While slavery had nominally been illegal on the colony previously, it had been common for law enforcement to look the other way for those batarians who did own other batarians.

The new legislation was deeply unpopular in parts of Anhur, especially once it became clear that the less fortune were often being coerced into slavery over debts or simply needing a roof over their heads. ‘Anhurians for Liberty’ was founded by the human Sakura Ito and the batarian Khosvan Rasserk(representing a not insignificant population of lower caste batarians who’d moved to Anhur to escape the Hegemony’s institutions), both students at the University of New Thebes, as an activist movement. To begin with AL was a peaceful movement, staging protests and occupations of government and corporate faciltiies. However in response began to grow the Na’Hesit movement - those who wished to ensure slavery continued in the system.

On March 2176, a government police unit fired into an AL protest in front of the Anhurian senate, killing twenty-three including Rasserk. Violence erupted, with rioting and then rebellion, as the protestors armed themselves. Initially the rebels had some success, forcing government troops to abandon New Thebes and causing the President at the time, Jordan Ramaeker, to flee the planet in fear of his and his family’s lives. Functionally, the original republican government ceased to exist.

However, the Na’Hesit were joined by elements of the corporations behind the legislation to form the Anhur People’s Liberation Army (APLA). This meant the rebels were heavily outmatched in terms of money, weapons and warships, especially once Na’hesit militias began pressing human communities into slavery, forcing them to work on materiel for the war. In addition the rebellion consisted of five main groups, lacking a central command structure or undisputed leader even after the defection of several Anhur Army units, meaning military operations were often disjointed.

Ito and General Cyprus Fiore, a rebel leader and one of the Army defectors, appealed to the Systems Alliance for assistance. However the Alliance flatly refused to intervene openly, perhaps fearing the beginning of a larger conflict with the Hegemony if they did so. However, an Alliance delegation was sent to meet the rebels in New Thebes, where the Alliance diplomat Cai Doan negotiated an agreement between the various factions of the rebellion, forming the Provisional Council, which the Alliance and Asari Republics recognised as the government of Anhur. In addition it was alleged the Alliance also agreed to fund the anti-slavery faction and supply special forces teams, who would train their militias and conduct covert raids.

Similar allegations would be levied against the Hegemony in regards to the APLA - turning the civil war into somewhat of a proxy war between two galactic rivals.

The Provisional Council was able to raise the funds to hire a large private military corporation to provide the warships and well-trained troops required to win the war. Ito and Fiore, now de facto leaders of the Anhurian government, agreed on hiring Jona Sederis’ Eclipse. They were wary of the Blood Pack’s reputation for ill-discipline and the Blue Suns’ connections to the batarian slave trade.

At first it appeared that it would be for nothing - Eclipse was unable to prevent the fall of the capital in the First Battle of New Thebes and were routes at the Battle of Neith, where they were surprised by a numerically superior Na’Hesit fleet.

However the tide soon began to turn, with Eclipse leading an offensive that retook the capital late in the war and destroying the bulk of APLA forces, forcing the pro-slavery rebels to the negotiating table. The end result was the declaration of the Second Republic of Anhur, with a new constitution that outlawed slavery, and an economic depression the planet has yet to climb out of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I lied. I'm bad at this buffering thing. 
> 
> More seriously I thought I'd get this out because I'm having computer issues and I wanted to update before I started pulling things apart and wiping drives. Next update will be about a week and a half if I still have a computer then.


	19. What Remains

Shepard pressed her palms to the briefing room table, the metal cool against her skin. She’d taken to having most of her meetings with the Cerberus crew in the briefing room - her cabin on the SR1 had been spartan in comparison to her new one, but it’d been set up for ease of access to the crew deck and as an office. Her new cabin on the other hand seemed more like a socialite’s pad for entertaining than the workspace of a warship’s captain.

Adapt and overcome, all that crap.

“Vakarian and I sold the _Scourge_ to the Korlus security forces,” Lawson told her, showing her a datapad with financial numbers. Shepard had sent those two for a reason - she suspected they didn’t like each other very much, or were at least suspicious of each other, but she needed to know they could work together.

Shepard winced at the numbers. “Not quite what I’d hoped.”

Lawson nodded, “The battle damage drove the price down, as did the fact we couldn’t sell to pirates for obvious reasons, but it should be sufficient to purchase the shield and armour upgrades.”

“Good.” Getting their hands on classified weapons tech would be the biggest hurdle. She didn’t think a bottle of fernet to Hackett would do the trick.

“I took the liberty of purchasing the supplies required to make repairs to our damaged wing.”

“Good thinking, Lawson. I don’t like trying FTL jumps with hull breaches if it can be avoided.”

“I’ll organise for Tali’Zorah to lead a repair party while we’re in orbit.”

The annoying thing, Shepard had come to realise, was that Lawson was perfectly reasonable and competent so long as they stayed away from politics and Shepard didn’t provoke her. They worked well together.

“I’ll be the lookout.” Shepard broke in.

Miranda raised an eyebrow. “You’re not an engineer.”

“No, but I do have a decade of experience in EVA work.” The Alliance taught all personnel at least the basics of EVA, and Shepard had been through a procession of courses; first as an infantry grunt, then as an N and finally as part of the Space Warfare Command Officer Training course. “And,” she raised her hands, wriggling her fingers as tendrils of biotic energy wrapped around them, “I can catch any idiots who try to get themselves killed.”

“If you’re sure.”

“I am,” Shepard said strongly, not letting any fear or doubt creep into her voice. She'd had a moment of bone-deep terror when the SR2 had taken that fire from the _Scourge_ , but she'd done her job, hadn't she? The Collectors weren't going to stay away forever.

They'd attack her ship again, just like in her nightmares. She had to do this. If she couldn't - what kind of starship captain was afraid of space? This crew was relying on her, eighty percent Cerberus or not.

That made it easier, in a way. The first time she’d Charged in combat she’d been a terrified eighteen year old who’d really just wanted to stay in cover, but her platoon had needed her to move, so she had. After time that fear had become something she could compartmentalise away.

Maybe this fear could be dealt with the same way.

“Tell Tali to meet me in the airlock. We’ll do an inspection of the wing before the work party goes out,” she told her XO calmly. Miranda nodded and she headed to the armoury to fetch her hardsuit.

The spacewalk would even be tethered since she’d insisted on navy style precautions - mag boots as well as a safety line. She’d done more dangerous things in N7 training let alone boarding actions. She’d be fine. Easy as taking a walk, just like she’d done a hundred times before.

She slotted the breathing mask into her helmet, setting it down on the armoury bench.

“Commander?”

Shepard’s jaw tightened. She pulled her chest rig over her head, tightening straps until the ceramic plates encased her chest like a turtle’s shell. “Chambers. Can I help you?”

She was playing along with the Illusive Man’s game for now, but god did Kelly Chambers make it difficult. The woman was practically designed to manipulate her - young, cheery and seemingly guileless. She was a great big neon sign saying spill _all your secrets to me, Commander!_ Either the Illusive Man thought she was naive and would treat Chambers like any other twenty-something she’d had to guide over the years or he thought she liked redheads and that Ash was the rule rather than the exception.

Ugh.

Chambers frowned, “It’s just - you’re joining the EVA work crew?”

Shepard gestured at herself, half-suited up, unable to quite help the bite in her voice, “Clearly.”

“Is that a good idea?” the woman asked honestly. Shepard raised an eyebrow but Chambers lifted her chin. “I’m concerned that this might aggravate your anxiety.”

“My-” Shepard cut herself off incredulously.

“You close the shutters in every compartment you come into,” Chambers insisted, “enough that Joker has started doing it whenever he knows you’re on your way up to the bridge.”

Shepard’s chest tightened painfully. “I’m a spacer, Chambers. I’m not afraid of a little spacewalk.”

She’d spent her entire life amongst the stars except for a few months here and there on Benning. The stars were her home more than any planet - she wouldn’t let the Collectors take that from her as well. She wouldn’t.

“Given what you’ve been through,” Chambers began again.

Shepard picked up her helmet, rolling it between her bare palms. “I can do this.” _I need to know I can._ “If you’ll excuse me.”

Tali was waiting for her when she entered the airlock, a tool belt around her hips. Shepard’s own breathing was harsh inside her sealed helmet.

“You don’t have to do the inspection with me,” Tali told her, “Donnelly and I could’ve done it.”

Shepard checked her suit seals for the third time. “I know.” Her mouth was dry when she licked her lips. “This is the first time I’ve gone on a spacewalk since - in a while. And I trust you.”

Both to make sure they were and not to judge her.

“Oh.” Tali’s eyes, luminous under her opaque mask, turned to her. “Would you like me to take the lead?”

“That’d be for the best.”

Tali just nodded. “EDI,” her tone still held a hint of disgust, “Beginning EVA.”

They both activated their mag boots and checked that their tethers were hooked into the harness properly as the inner airlock door shut with a soft thud. Shepard’s heart thudded against her sternum.

_I do more dangerous things everyday._ Just a biotic charge was more dangerous than a routine EVA walk with proper safety equipment, but the reminder didn’t steady the thumping of her heart rate.

She recalled Gunny Ellison, his tomato red face and bellowing voice, the orders he’d walked them through until it’d become second nature. _Attach to the ship, grab the bar, pull yourself out. So fuckin’ easy a child could do it! Keep two points of contact with the hull at all times! That means we keep both feet magnetised if we need to move our tether, Private Shepard!_

God, she’d been such a shit as an eighteen year old, so bloody convinced she was invincible and her biotics could get her out of anything. Well, the universe had its last laugh on that one, hadn’t it?

"There are personnel working outside the ship, do not rotate, radiate, or energize any electric or electronic equipment, start thrusters, or vent the drive core or heatsinks while personnel are working outside, without first contacting the Chief Engineer." EDI’s bland announcement was muted through the thick airlock door.

“Beginning depressurisation,” Tali announced. Her three fingered hand wrapped loosely around Shepard’s wrist. Neither of them could feel the touch, but the gesture was welcomed.

Safely depressurizing the airlock with personnel inside was a gradual process - rapid decompression would pull said personnel right into the void. Shepard counted her breaths, trying not to think about the slow hiss of escaping air.

Then the door slid open and all Shepard could see was the dark and the cold pinpricks of distant stars. Her chest tightened. Somewhere distant she could hear the rasp of her own breathing.

“Shepard?” Tali’s hand tugged gently on her wrist.

“I’m okay,” she said hoarsely. She could do this. She’d done her first spacewalk as a teenager - this was just muscle memory.

“We’ll take it slow,” Tali dropped her hand and took the few steps to the edge of the airlock like she was walking in a park. Shepard swallowed down a mix of humiliation and gratitude - she’d never liked to show weakness to her crew, but Tali was a friend as her chief engineer.

The quarian grasped the bar edging the outside of the airlock and pulled herself up and over onto the perpendicular hull with one smooth movement, graceful as a dancer.

Now or never.

Shepard had spent over a decade honing her body to do exactly what she needed to, whether that was flinging itself at enemy combatants, running for kilometres in armour or leaving cover while under fire. Now she was frozen, every muscle in her body locked in place. She knew what to do. She knew she could do it, didn’t even really remember what had happened after she’d gotten Joker into the pod, but some primal instinct saw the beckoning void and knew it. Feared it. There was a roaring in her ears, her heart a hard beat in her chest.

“Shepard, I’m right here,” Tali promised, her voice vaguely mechanical through their comm channel. “I won’t let anything happen.”

_I know that_ , she very nearly snapped back because the knowing wasn’t the problem, but she bit her tongue. Tali was just trying to help.

Shepard gritted her teeth and forced herself the few steps forward, reached up and grabbed the edge of the airlock. She focused on just the familiar strain of gene-modded muscle as she heaved, on the mechanics of getting out onto the hull.

And then she was standing on the _Normandy’s_ flank, surrounded by stars. For a moment her chest seized painfully but then Tali’s voice was in her ear again.

Soft, understanding. “Just keep your eyes on the deck. The first time outside after an accident is always the hardest, I know.”

Accident was one way to put it.

“Roger that,” Shepard replied hoarsely.

To the _Normandy’s_ starboard loomed the mottled tan orb of Korlus, a steady stream of ships darting to and fro from the planet’s scrap facilities and drydocks. Shepard fixed her eyes on the struts of metal of the _Normandy’s_ outer skeleton, sheets of sleek armoured plates attached to each, and focused on making sure her tether was secured properly.

If she just focused on the procedure, on what she needed to do, she’d be fine. Right? Right.

_“Commander Shepard, are you well?”_ EDI’s voice was a buzz in her ear, _“Your heart and respiration rate are high. This can be a sign of distress in organics.”_

“You’re monitoring me?” Shepard asked bitingly.

_“Monitoring the status of away parties is part of my function.”_

“I’m fine,” she said curtly, “I need to concentrate.”

The AI went quiet.

Shepard attached her tether to the next anchor point and carefully followed Tali along the metal portions of the _Normandy’s_ outer hull towards the damaged port wing. The _Scourge’s_ GARDIAN laser had carved a nice big gash through two armoured plates and bitten through a portion of the pressure hull beneath, and causing a fire that had caused some damage to the primary thruster contained within. Daniels, as their propulsion engineer, was leading a team to repair the thruster - she and Tali had assured Shepard that it could be done themselves - and then fix the pressure hull. Tali’s outside team would remove and replace the outer hull, as well as the destroyed shield emitter and sensors.

All in all, Tali had estimated it’d take five to six hours to fully repair the damage. A delay which meant they had to sit in Korlus’ orbit with a load of freed slaves and captured pirates, but Shepard thought it worth the time.

The two of them stood over the hull breach, examining where the crew could work from. Tali’s wrist glowed orange as she took scans of the hull with her omnitool.

“The scaffold here is damaged,” Tali pointed out, “but if we pull the first plate off from aft we should be able to repair it with the drones.”

“Stress test the repair first.”

Tali turned luminous eyes towards her. “Are you also going to tell me to keep my tether tight?”

Shepard huffed a short laugh despite the thrumming of her pulse. “Sorry. Don’t tell a quarian how to spacewalk, huh?”

“Exactly,” Tali said, just a hint smugly. Given her skill as an engineer, Shepard figured she was allowed a bit of smug confidence.

“Daniels and her work party already started?” Shepard asked. She could hear the distant sound sound of working tools echoing from the damaged wing.

“Yes. I thought it best to get on the thruster straight away, make sure the reaction chamber is properly sealed.”

“Yeah, good idea.” Shepard didn’t much like the imagery that popped into her head of the thruster’s reaction chamber or anti-matter storage tank being breached.

Metal screaming as it tore like paper - then there would be that deadly silence. The sort of silence that fell over you like a heavy blanket, so stifling you thought you’d never hear a sound again.

“Shepard?” Tali’s hand was on her wrist again, tugging just enough Shepard could feel it. Her fingers were trembling.

She swallowed thickly. “…have you got the scans you need?”

“Yes - let’s head back to the airlock.”

They were just reattaching their tethers to the next anchor when a god-awful grinding reverberated through the metal underneath their feet. Shepard spun despite herself, the tether tugging at her when she hit its limit, just in time to see one of the damaged armour plates pull free of the scaffolding, tearing the remaining bolts out and twisting the metal framework.

It tumbled over itself, scraping along the next ceramic plate. Towards them.

Tali raised a helpless hand. They couldn’t move fast enough to get out of the way, even cutting their tethers.

Shepard pushed with her biotics, gritting her teeth at the heavy throb in her head as she fought the massive plate’s terrible weight. For a moment she thought, heart trying to crack through her sternum, that she wouldn’t be able to move it. She and Tali would be crushed between the armoured plate and the hull - or worse, knocked out into space.

Then, after what felt like an eternity packed into seconds, she felt it move with her biotic field. It cleared their heads by mere metres and careened off the _Normandy’s_ starboard.

Shepard swayed but managed to keep her feet.

“…Ancestors,” Tali said after a moment, voice thin with relief.

_“Commander!”_ Joker’s frantic voice flooded into Shepard’s helmet, _“are you two alright? I’ve got a shitton of warnings in here!”_

“We’re okay,” Shepard was surprised at how steady her voice was. “What happened?” There’d been nothing in their inspection or Tali’s scans to suggest an armoured plate would suddenly separate like that.

_“Looks like the internal work party dislodged the plate and the force snapped the remaining bolts,”_ the pilot replied.

Shepard’s jaw clenched, hard. “I want them in the cargo bay by the time I get off the elevator. We’re coming in.”

_“Roger that.”_

She was sweating under her armour when she pulled herself into the airlock, Tali close behind her, skin damp and clammy.

“Joker, it looked like the debris strike hit one of the other armour plates and a sensor cluster. Have you read any losses on your end?” Tali asked as the outside airlock door sealed.

One helluva debris strike.

_“Yeah, they dented my baby! Port thermographics reading orange and we’ve lost a star tracker.”_

“Fucking fantastic,” Shepard snapped. Her chest hurt, but underneath the cold dread wrapped around her was the spark of familiar rage. She grabbed onto the anger with everything in her.

_“She’s only a couple of months old,”_ Joker nearly wailed.

“I’m more concerned about the fact that we’ve just added two or three hours of repair time,” Tali grumbled. If the quarian was still shaken from their near miss she wasn’t showing it. “At least I won’t have to do all the paperwork Adams used to make us do for any incidents.”

“Oh no,” Shepard said, “you’re still doing the report.”

Tali sighed. “It was worth a try.”

“Get your party ready to go,” Shepard told her as the inner airlock door cycled open, “take Taylor as a lookout.”

As soon as Tali nodded Shepard pulled off the safety harness and tether off with quick, sharp movements. The anger carried her into the elevator, past a concerned Chambers and a frowning Miranda, and down to the cargo bay deck.

A dispirited gaggle of crewmen waited for her, still in their vacuum gear. Daniels had her helmet off and her face was pale as a sheet.

Shepard tossed her helmet onto the nearest bench with a loud clatter, the whole group flinching at the sound.

“What the _fuck_ happened?” she demanded, staring them down one at a time. Matthews opened his mouth, but Shepard didn’t give him time for excuses or explanations She drew herself up to her full height and squared her shoulders, channelling Gunny Ellison in all his foul mouthed glory. “To think I expected at least _base goddamn competency_ from you blue falcon, free-loading oxygen breathing fuck-ups!” The cargo bay echoed with her voice, “If I hadn’t had a fancy new impant jacked into my skull two of your shipmates would be fucking pancakes because you forgot the basic principle of tying down a heavy object in space! Maybe Cerberus doesn’t care if a few crewmembers get turned to paste but this is _my_ fucking ship and I will personally kick your sorry arses out the airlock if you so much as move a toe outside of line again!”

The working party quailed - except for Daniels, who took it with military stoicism. Matthews and Gau on the other hand looked like they might cry. Jang on the other hand just looked mildly confused.

A little warning flag popped up in her head. Matthews, Gau and Jang were civilians. They probably didn’t even know what a blue falcon was. The fire and brimstone Marine act was probably not going to be as effective as she might like, so with some effort she reigned in her temper.

“Working on a ship, especially when we’re doing our own repairs, is dangerous. A lapse in concentration, corner cutting, any bullshit like that? It can maim or kill one of your shipmates. Today it nearly did - if I hadn’t been there your chief engineer would be dead, and that’s not a mistake that can be undone. I want to know exactly what went wrong.”

“It’s my fault,” Matthews said miserably, shifting from foot to foot. The man resembled a kicked puppy. “We needed more space in the baffles to work on repairing the thruster so I thought I’d undo the bolts so we could swing the plate out a bit.”

Standard enough. But. “You didn’t secure the hull section.”

He flinched. “I…I didn’t think. The outer hulls of all the ships I’ve worked on before - they’ve had metal outer hulls, so I don’t know, I was just used to the magnets we had set up holding it. I don’t even know why - I know it’s not ferrous, I just - fuck.”

Shepard held up a hand and he cut himself off. “It’s human nature, but it won’t happen on my ship again. You’re all stood down for now - go get a bite to eat, see Chakwas if you’re still feeling shaken up. Daniels, you’ll have to wait for Tali, Donnelly and Rakova to be done with the outside repairs to finish what you were doing.”

“Aye aye, ma’am.” The engineer was still standing at parade rest. She liked Daniels, damnit, but she’d been in charge so she got the same yelling as her team.

“Dismissed.” The work party started for the elevators, but Shepard spoke up again, “Not you, Daniels.”

The young woman turned back with the expression of someone expecting a firing squad. “Ma’am. I’m sorry. I checked their work history, but I should’ve made sure everyone was familiar with the _Normandy’s_ outer hull or moved the hull section myself.”

“You made the same mistake I did,” Shepard rubbed a gloved hand over her sweaty face, “assuming that on-paper certification meant their competencies could be trusted. This isn’t the Alliance.”

“No, it’s not,” Daniels’s voice was soft.

“I did mean it when I said this can’t happen again,” Shepard sharpened her tone, “I expect you to make sure all the crew are properly certified before they go out again. If you, Tali or Donnelly haven’t signed off on someone I don’t want them touching repair work outside their normal duties.”

“Aye aye. I’ll work something up with Tali,” Daniels promised.

“Very good,” Shepard nodded approvingly. “I also expect an incident report.”

“Of course, ma’am.”

She picked up her helmet and headed back to the elevator.

She made it to the door of her cabin, half-falling against it, fingers scrabbling at the lock. Her head pounded as she stumbled to her knees just inside, her chest feeling like something was crushing it. She couldn’t breathe. Each breath came quick and hard and short. Her biotics flared around her, corona jagged and flashing.

She couldn’t breathe.

_Stop it. I’m fucking fine. It was just a near miss._ She curled her hands into her fists, pitching forward.

She wasn’t sure how long she was there, just that it felt like a small eternity.

“Shepard?” Garrus’ footsteps echoed loudly against the metal deck, and then his tall figure was kneeling beside her, one hand hovering in the air between them awkwardly, “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t breathe,” she gasped out, pressing a hand into the flat plane of her chestplate.

His good mandible flicked with worry. “You can. Just- breathe with me, okay?”

He counted them through each one, inhaling and exhaling loud enough she could hear his deep breathing.

Finally the tightness of her chest eased. It felt as if every drop of energy had been wrung out of her body like water out of a dish cloth, and the low pounding of a biotic exhaustion induced headache had started in her temples.

“Help me to the couch,” she managed at last. Between the biotic hangover dizziness and the exhaustion settling over her body she wasn’t sure if she could make it on her own. The turian helped her up, supporting her with one rather spiky arm, before settling her on the stupid leather couch. After a moment of awkwardly watching her struggle with her armour he helped her pull the chest rip off, neatly stacking the bits of armour on her coffee table.

“Chakwas wanted to see you,” he said at last as she flopped back against the back of the lounge.

Shepard licked her dry lips. She’d chased another Spectre across the galaxy, drove an IFV through a relay, assaulted up a bloody tower underneath a Reaper, and right now? Right now getting down to her own medical bay seemed an insurmountable challenge. “Can you send her up?”

He paused, worry flashing across the plates of his face. “Will you be alright?”

“Yeah.”

He didn’t look entirely convinced, but he headed for the door regardless. Shepard let her thump back against the leather and stared up at the closed skylight.

* * *

 

Karin Chakwas stepped off the ship’s elevator with a medical bag slung over one shoulder and a plate in her hands, heaped high with food. “That’ll keep anyone healthy as a horse,” Gardner had said with satisfaction, “never mind them glucose pills.”

She did have a container of those in her bag, of course.

“Commander?”

“Doc.” Shepard was slouched on her lounge in her black under-suit, hair matted to her skull with sweat and sleeves pushed to her elbows. “That smells amazing.” She practically dove in as soon Chakwas placed it on the table in front of her, shoveling egg into her mouth. Never the most refined of eaters, Commander Shepard - but that came with the hard life she’d lived so far. Food was fuel, to be eaten quickly in case you didn’t get another chance.

“Hand, please,” Chakwas said crisply, removing a glucose meter from her bag.

Shepard knew the drill and held out one bare hand without complaint. Chakwas pricked her fingertip and took the reading with practiced motions. The vids always failed to show the downsides of having biotics; the required nutrition, the iodine supplementation, the careful monitoring of blood glucose levels. Chakwas could still remember when the first studies of biotics on the human body had come out, before the management of biotics’ health became a staple of her job as a military dctor.

Chakwas clicked her tongue at the results and pulled out the bottle of glucose tablets. “Two of these, if you would, Commander - and finish that meal.”

“Aye aye,” she replied with a faint hint of a smile, swallowing the tablets without complaint.

“How are you feeling? That hull section wasn’t small.” Not for the first time, Chakwas resolved to study the Lazarus Project records again. She doubted that the Commander Shepard of 2183, as talented a biotic as she’d always been, would have been able to move such a large object. Miranda had told her that they had needed to replace Shepard’s L3 implant due to the damage sustained, just as she’d said the bone and muscle weaves had been necessary, but Chakwas had her doubts.

They’d made her stronger, faster, more powerful and then given her a war to fight.

“Shaky,” Shepard said at last, looking away, “headache, tired. Not sure how much is the biotic exhaustion and…I had a panic attack.”

“There’s nothing to be embarassed about, Commander,” Chakwas assured her. “Given what happened-”

Shepard ran a frustrated hand through her hair. “I need to be able to bloody spacewalk. I thought if I just - if I proved to myself I could still do it…”

“Oh Shepard,” Chakwas sat down beside her, placing a hand on the younger woman’s shoulder. “Even you can’t brute force your way through trauma.”

“I’m a spacer and a starship captain. I don’t have time for this.”

“Would you try to run on a broken leg?” asked Chakwas, “Or would you accept that it will take time to heal?”

Shepard braced the heel of her palm against her forehead. “I’m sorry, Karin. I know I’m being irrational. It just - all feels too much right now.”

“We’re all allowed our moments, Shepard.” They’d never been particularly close on the SR1 - Shepard had bonded most with Williams and Alenko, and Karin had her friends in Pressley and Adams - but she’d always liked the younger woman, and right now it was clear Shepard needed her friends right now. Chakwas was fond of them, but neither Joker or Garrus were the sort of men who would know what to say to Shepard or how to talk about ‘feelings’.

The Illusive Man talked about recreating the SR1’s success but it seemed he;d forgotten that Shepard was a deeply human woman, already carrying scars from the Eden Prime War and before, and not simply a tool to be used. In manipulating her, in ensuring that Shepard had no choice but to work for Cerberus, he’d isolated her and deprived her of her support network.

After a moment she put her arm around Shepard’s shoulders and squeezed. “You have friends on this ship, Shepard. Please don’t forget that.”

* * *

 

When Garrus lowered the _Normandy’s_ ramp to offload both the ex-slaves and their prisoners, Joseph Coyle and his Corsairs were waiting for them in the docking bay, two trucks landed haphazardly and waiting for them. The man stood in his battered yet well-maintained armour, rifle slung across his chest and helmet off. Someone had taken a swing at him recently - a still-healing gash split his left cheek.

Jacob’s footsteps rang on the metal deck, and the former Corsair glared down at the older man and his companions - a young batarian, an asari and two humans. His voice was hard and judgemental. “Pirates.”

Garrus was a little surprised that Jacob hadn’t pegged Coyle for what he was, given the younger human had been involved in the same business, but Shepard had been careful to call them privateers the whole winding way back from Korlus. She’d also asked him to do his best to make sure Miranda and Jacob didn’t spend too much around Coyle - neither of them were stupid after all. Luckily Miranda had agreed to take two of the others and head to the markets for supplies. That left Jacob.

“Can you make sure the prisoners are ready to be moved?” Garrus asked. There was only a moment of hesitation before Jacob nodded and headed back towards where the few survivors of the _Scourge’s_ crew had been confined in one of the cargo holds. The _Normandy’s_ chain of command was nebulous, and Jacob was Chief of Security, but no one on the crew had missed how much Shepard relied on Garrus. Whatever else, Taylor did seem like he truly liked and respected Shepard.

They’d see how that panned out when the inevitable happened.

Coyle met Garrus at the bottom of the ramp.

“Vakarian,” Coyle shook his hand. He remembered it clearly - the old N7 showing up at their hideout, brazen and unarmed. Butler had nearly shot him, startled, and the former Master Chief had bawled him out in true senior NCO fashion. Garrus had recognised him then - they’d met briefly at Shepard’s funeral and after, Coyle helping a very drunk Ashley back to her hotel room. Coyle had offered him a deal - any slaves Garrus and his men freed while fighting the gangs of Omega, the Corsairs would make sure they got home.

Garrus had wanted more. He’d wanted help cleaning up Omega. He’d wanted an ally.

Coyle had given him this sad smile and said no. “Look, Vakarian. I don’t want to see you get killed, for Shepard’s sake if nothing else, but that’s not how it works. That’s not what I’m here to do.”

Covert or not, Coyle was an Alliance agent and Alliance agents couldn’t get involved in one former detective’s vendetta against a place as old and cruel as Omega.

Thinking back to that sad smile and the hints of it now in the human man’s expression, Garrus thought that maybe Coyle had known all along how things would end. For a moment Garrus was angry - ten good people were dead and Coyle hadn’t said or done a damn thing, just watched them walk right off a cliff. But as suddenly as the anger had come it faded away. There was no one to blame but himself, and he wouldn’t have listened even if Coyle had said something.

“Good to see you intact. Mostly, anyway,” the N7 said gruffly, looking Garrus up and down.

“You too.”

They weren’t really friends, just acquaintances who’d been connected by a dead friend. The silence quickly became a touch awkward. The young batarian kept shifting from foot to foot and fiddling with his holster.

“Coyle, you old bastard!” Shepard came down the ramp, a smile on her face. They clasped hands, before Shepard pulled back to look him over critically, brown eyes lingering on the gash. “What happened to your face?”

Coyle shrugged, scratching the red-raw edges, “SIU agent tried to take me out. I got the better of the bastard though.”

“It’s my fault,” the young batarian cut in, blinking rapidly and shifting yet again.

Coyle waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t start that shit again, Cator. The SIU hardly need an excuse to try and kill me. They’ve been trying for years - ain’t that right, Shepard?”

“Sure. At least three times when we served together,” Shepard agreed mildly.

The batarian opened his mouth but Coyle cut him off. “Go make sure that the trucks are ready. I want to make this quick.”

It was an excuse to get rid of the kid - and he knew it by the way he set his jaw stubbornly, but after a stern glance from the older human man he went.

Shepard watched him go and then glanced back at Coyle. “Thanks for taking the prisoners and the rescues off my hands, Coyle - and for letting me route the bounty payments through you. Would’ve been a helluva headache without you.”

“No need to thank me. I bet there were some goddamn parties on Arcturus when that news came through.”

“On the Citadel too,” Garrus added. The Taharak brothers hadn’t just been on the Alliance’s most wanted list.

Coyle paused, glancing over his shoulder at his own people. “I do have a favour to ask though.”

“Uh huh.” Shepard raised an eyebrow. “I already offered a cut of the bounties-”

“It’s not about goddamn money, Shepard,” Coyle cut her off.

“The fuck are you on about?” Shepard asked, frowning at him.

“Well, give me a fuckin’ moment and I’ll tell you.” When Shepard raised her hands, he continued. “Cator over there - he escaped from the Hegemony about a year ago. Kid got caught discussing ‘sedition’ with his buddies at university when he was nineteen. Rest of them got disappeared, but him, he got sent to the mines.”

Garrus’ mandibles flicked. Few stories came out of the Hegemony that weren’t through the Hegemony’s propaganda arm.

“I happened to raid the slave ship taking him and the rest of his unfortunate companions to Logasiri,” Coyle scratched the healing cut, “anyway, this kid, formerly a fuckin’ agricultural student, manages to get a hold of my knife when I’m wrestling with this SIU fuck and stabs the bastard in the neck.”

“Huh.” Garrus flicked his eyes towards the young batarian. That was…kind of impressive actually.

“You lost your knife to a teenager?” Shepard raised an eyebrow.

“Not the point, Shepard. Kid’s got spirit, the kind even the slavers couldn’t break.”

“What does that have to do with me?” she asked.

“Two nights ago, one of the SIU agents that infiltrated and arrested his little university discussion group came to Omega - spotted Cator in the markets and had heard of how he’d escaped, I suppose. He tried to kill him and probably would’ve succeeded if I hadn’t been around. I wounded the SIU agent but you know them,” Coyle shrugged.

“Slippery as eels,” Shepard agreed.

“Yeah. He got away. I was wearing a helmet, but…”

“You need Cator off-station,” Garrus surmised, “SIU will come looking for their dissident and then they’ll find your crew.”

“That and…” Coyle shrugged, “I’m fond of the kid and I don’t want to see him gunned down in some gutter. He deserves better.”

Shepard sighed heavily, rubbing her face. “You want me to transport him somewhere?”

Coyle paused. “I was hoping you’d take him onboard.”

“Are you _crazy_?” Shepard demanded, voice rising. At the few glances they attracted from both crews, she lowered her voice again. “You want me to bring a batarian aboard a Cerberus ship?”

Coyle jerked a thumb at Garrus. “You’ve got a turian already.”

“That’s different,” she snapped.

“Why? Because you like turians better than you do batarians?”

Shepard’s scowl was dark enough Garrus barely resisted the urge to step back himself. “That’s not what this is about, Coyle.”

“Look,” the older N7’s voice was low but intent, “that’s a good kid, Shepard. He’s good with a gun and he’s got his head screwed on right - but he’s also a stateless runaway dissident. Where can he go, huh?”

“My mission is dangerous. Does he know that?”

“I explained it to him. He wants to make a difference in the galaxy.”

Shepard waved a sharp, dismissive gesture. “All young people in their twenties want to save the bloody galaxy, Coyle.”

“C’mon, Shepard. It’s hard enough sending the kid away. I want to know he’ll be in good hands.”

“Fuck me,” Shepard grumbled, “ _fine_. But,” a shadow flickered across her face, “I can’t promise he’ll be safe.”

“No one can promise that,” Coyle said with a weary fatalism. “Especially not with what’s coming.”

Shepard paused and then nodded.

“I’ll go tell him and tell him to go get his things,” Coyle said. His shoulders slumped a little but there was a grimness to the hard slash of his mouth. Garrus had been Archangel for only twelve months and it’d broken something deep inside him - all the sentient suffering for no reason except greed and pride that, in the end, he couldn’t stop. He wondered what it did to a man to be in this line of work, to submerge himself in the Terminus and all its violent currents for so long.

In that moment Garrus wasn’t quite sure whether he respected Joseph Coyle or if he pitied him.

“In the meantime, I have something important to do and I was hoping you’d come with me, Garrus.” Shepard said, watching her old friend walk away.

“Of course. What do you need?”

“I need a haircut and to start getting my tattoos redone,” Shepard’s voice was matter of fact.

He glanced at her, dubious. “That’s the important thing you need to do?”

Shepard flexed her hands, “Ever since I woke up I’ve felt - disconnected. Like Cerberus has tried to wipe my life clean of everything that happened before. Maybe it’s stupid, but - I need to start taking back control.”

He didn’t quite understand why the tattoos would do that, but he fell in behind her anyway. “Lead the way, Commander Shepard.”

* * *

 

**Codex Entry**

2179 SSV Geneva Incident: On the 23rd of April 2179 the SSV _Geneva_ , the lead vessel of the aging _Geneva_ class of frigates, was enroute to Arcturus Station following her last patrol prior to her decommissioning. Built in 2147, the Geneva was one of the oldest ships in the Alliance Navy at the time, having seen action in the First Contact War as part of the Second Fleet before various assignments over the years to the volatile Alliance border in the Traverse. While the Alliance often placed older vessels into the Naval Reserve for at least three years, the _Geneva’s_ age and the fact she’d suffered three significant hull breaches during her lifespan led to a decision to scrap the vessel immediately post decommission. Once arriving on Arcturus the majority of the _Geneva’s_ crew were due to be reassigned elsewhere in the Navy, leaving a skeleton crew to strip out weapons and classified equipment.

At approximately 03:14 the SSV _Geneva_ exited FTL near the Alliance colony world of Cuervo in order to discharge her drive core. At this time almost two thirds of her crew were sleeping, including the captain and executive officer. The ship’s navigator had woken in order to oversee the discharge operation and then the next Relay jump.

At 3:22 a section of the _Geneva’s_ pressure hull suffered a catastrophic failure, with a rupture of about three metres forming in the inner hull. This caused the explosive decompression of Berthing 3C and tore free two of the _Geneva’s_ outer hull armoured plates. All thirty-four sailors and Marines who were sleeping in the berthing were immediately killed, either due to the violence of the decompression, lung trauma or vacuum exposure. The sound of the rupture was loud enough that it woke the _Geneva’s_ commanding officer, Commander Kiera Ward, in her quarters.

Berthing 3C had been the quarters of the majority of the ship’s gunnery and damage control divisions, meaning most of the ship’s trained damage control men had been killed. However, the Marine Detachment Commander and Chief Damage Controlman quickly established a party of volunteers to enter the ruptured compartment in search of survivors. They would find none.

After assistance from nearby civilian and military ships and the recovery of twenty-nine of the dead crew, the _Geneva_ would limp home to Arcturus Station for a full inquiry and a memorial service.

Six months after the deadly incident, the inquiry would release their preliminary report. The investigators alleged that during repairs of previous damage to the pressure hull, a fatal weakness had been missed in the welded joints during quality control. The ship had passed both the drydock’s pressure tests and the regular ones conducted by the ship’s crew - however Ward had only ordered tests of up to 125% of the ship’s normal operating pressure to be done. Following the accident, the Navy would order an exhaustive examination of ships repaired by said drydock and while never court martialed, Ward would find herself reprimanded and her career stalled.


End file.
